The Storm Before the Calm
by drlve
Summary: Rory and Tristan. Another way their story could have gone. Future fic, slightly AU, very M.
1. Lengths of love

Title: The Storm Before the Calm

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Summary: Rory and Tristan. Another way their story could have gone. Future fic, slightly AU, very M.

Reviews are appreciated.

* * *

She took a deep breath staring at the door in front of her. The door she knew so well.

She wondered, as if recovering from a daze, how she once again ended up here.

She could call it weakness. Obsession. Addiction. Or just plain stupidity.

She didn't want to call it anything.

She knocked quickly and took a step back letting out a long breath as she ran her hands through her hair, trying to bring some order to the locks blown mercilessly by the autumn New York winds.

A couple of seconds passed and she felt a sort of relief, the thought passing through her head that he might not be home and therefore this whole stumble back into idiotic sin would be prevented.

But the door swung open, her breathing immediately hitching as she saw the icy stare of cold blue eyes. There was a flash of recognition on his face and then what she identified as pure annoyance. His hair as messy as ever, his face cold and stern, his eyes slightly weary and tired, he looked... worn.

"This is not the best time, Rory" he heard him say, his voice even deeper than it usually was and she noted his effort to talk as quietly as he could.

"Oh" she said abruptly, unconsciously glancing past him to identify the reason for him blocking the doorway and talking in such a hushed tone.

She felt a pang of jealousy and anger as she took a breath, her face hardening.

"I didn't know you had company" she said, her voice cold and accusing and she felt even more angry seeing no hint of guilt or regret on his face. Instead, he stood there, as if protecting a castle from a dragon, as if last week he hadn't let her in when she knocked on the very same door, as if he hadn't whispered profanities into her ear as they made love, eager and rough and unappeasable.

Her whole body was raging, as if she'd been slapped in the face and she willed herself to turn her back and walk away just as she heard the footsteps from inside the apartment.

"Who's that, Tristan?" she heard the voice, recognizing it immediately as Tristan winced, groaning as if caught stealing candy.

Rory's eyes widened as she felt adrenaline surge though her veins, her mind desperately looking for an escape route. But it was too late.

The graceful form she associated with that voice appeared behind Tristan, the eyes of the woman sparkling with recognition and joy.

"Rory!" the woman exclaimed and then looked at Tristan who was now staring through the hall at the door opposite of his apartment, perhaps wishing he could be the lucky bastard living there and not the one caught in this situation.

"Elisabeth..." Rory breathed out, cursing herself for bringing this whole awkward scene upon herself "... hello"

She caught Tristan's accusing stare and she glanced from his cold eyes to the woman's warm ones and back, silently begging for forgiveness.

"I didn't know you two were seeing each other again!" the woman exclaimed, her voice thick with joy as she grabbed Rory by the arm and pulled her into the apartment, despite Rory's resistance.

"We are not seeing each other, mother" she heard Tristan's cold voice as he shut the door frustrated and turned towards the other two, his annoyance plastered on his face.

Elisabeth ignored him completely, too caught up in examining Rory, who stood there self-aware and very uncomfortable under the intense gaze of both DuGrays.

"Look at you, you look so beautiful! How have you been child? Your grandmother can't stop talking about you" Elisabeth exclaimed as she brushed a stray lock away from Rory's face.

Rory smiled politely, feeling Tristan's death glare pierce the back of her head.

"Tristan, why hadn't you told me you two were dating again? Oh my god, this is such great news, he's been miserable without you, you know" she went on.

"Mother" Tristan's determined voice silenced her and chilled the room in an instance. Rory felt her body shudder, hearing that tone and it certainly had an effect on Elisabeth DuGray, who looked at his son for a long second, before taking her cue and turning to grab her purse.

"Well, I guess I should go and let you two talk" she sighed, planting a kiss on an unaccepting Tristan as she walked past him to exit the silent apartment.

Rory sighed relieved and turned to look at Tristan, who was still staring at her, with eyes cold and beaming.

"I am so sorry, I didn't know she was here" she apologized, her voice small.

He sighed and started walking inside the apartment, brushing past her annoyed.

"What did you come here for Rory?" he asked, and the coldness in his voice surprised her.

She opened her mouth, but words seemed to fail her, suddenly feeling exposed and stupid.

She watched as he walked towards the kitchen, taking a bottle of water out of the fridge, his movements angry, violent even.

She glanced at the door as if silently weighing her options then sighed again, trying once again to apologize.

"I'm sorry, I should have called before"

He took a sip of water, not taking his eyes off of her, and she couldn't hold the intense gaze, suddenly feeling self conscious.

"Did you come here to fuck?" he said, his voice low and she gasped, her eyes darting up to meet his.

He held her gaze, placing the bottle on the table and walking out of the kitchen towards the bedroom.

She stood there taken aback, watching as he slipped the thin blue sweater over his head, his bare back coming into view.

She felt insulted, her blood boiling over.

She walked after him, her breathing quickening, ready to yell at him, but suddenly all reasoning was out the door as she saw him unbuckle his pants and push them down his legs. She stared at him shocked.

"I..." she started, but couldn't find the words, the whole situation felt so absurd.

He looked at her, his gaze challenging.

"You what?" he asked, his eyebrow darting up, his face still angry "You came here for a good fuck, so let's do that, Rory"

She shook her head bewildered.

"You are an asshole" she murmured but her feet didn't seem to move from her spot.

As if he realized her hesitation, his lips curled up in the slightest of smirks and he pushed his boxers down as well, his erect penis exposed.

Rory gasped slightly staring at his throbbing member and she wondered for a second when, during their brief talk did he become fully turned on. Her breathing became faster and she noted annoyed her own arousal, liquid pooling between her legs.

"I..." she started again, her voice frustrated, desperately trying to find the right words to describe her shock, her disgust... her weird sense of arousal.

She watched as he took a step towards his nightstand, pulling out a drawer and taking a condom out, opening the package with surprisingly calm fingers.

She huffed in anger knowing that this gesture was just another little touch to provoke her. During their years together, they never once used a condom.

She watched as he rolled it onto himself and moved onto the bed, on his knees, lifting his gaze to look at her once again, totally confident and calm.

"Come here" he commanded, his voice thick and husky.

She huffed, not moving.

"Don't fuck with me, Rory, come here" he repeated, his tone warning, putting emphasis on the words.

She felt her legs move involuntarily and she gasped as he grabbed her hand as soon as she came into reach.

He threw her onto the bed and immediately pulled her skirt up, lifting her slightly to be able to pull her panties down.

She lay there helpless, the happenings of the last few minutes still not completely registering in her head.

He moved over her, his weight pushing down on her and she let out a little cry as she felt him push inside her without any hesitation. Her eyes fluttered shut and she heard herself moan, her hands grasping his strong arms as she felt him fill her up completely.

He became still for a second and she opened her eyes to see his, full of concentration, as if he were formulating a game plan. She looked at him questioning but had no chance to express her doubts as she felt him pull out of her and thrust back into her firmly, eliciting another loud moan from her.

"Fuck" he cursed barely audible as he started a steady rhythm making her lose all conscious thought.

She felt her body dissolve into the smooth sheets of his bed, his scent filling her nostrils as his toned body moved above her, his hips grinding into hers, her legs involuntarily parting wider and wider to be able to let him in as deep as possible. With every thrust he seemed to go deeper, faster, more violent, her whole body vibrating with electricity. She felt her juices pool at her center, making his movements easier with every thrust and she could tell he felt her incredible wetness too, because he cursed thrust for thrust, the words becoming like a weird, arousing mantra intertwined with her moans.

She felt her breathing hitch and her eyes shut tight as she felt her edge approaching, her hands digging into his arms as she felt her whole body lift and then go stiff, the waves of her orgasm washing over her and making her whole body contract wildly under him for long seconds. She let out a muffled cry that only mildly resembled his name as she convulsed beneath him, his strong arms holding her still.  
She gasped for air as her body relaxed against his bed, the sweet feeling of satisfaction reaching every single part of her body.

She opened her eyes slowly and looked into his with a shock as she saw him motionless above her, his cock still throbbing and rock hard inside of her. His whole body seemed to shake with the slightest of tremors and sweat was forming on his face, his eyes full of restrain and concentration.

She stared at him as realization dawned on her... he had not let go.

She gasped as she felt him slip out of her and she stared at him bewildered as she saw him take a deep breath as if trying to calm himself.

And with that he got up from the bed, discarding the condom that had not even fully fulfilled its use, picking up his boxers and pulling them on as he walked out of the room.

She scoffed unbelieving, her body still not completely collected. She sat up in the bed and didn't know weather to scream or laugh at him. Instead she got up, not bothering to find her panties and dashed out after him.

She found him at the kitchen table sipping water from the same bottle he left there earlier, his eyes scanning the paper spread on the table.

"What the hell was that?" she shot, feeling her face heat up with anger.

He looked up nonchalant, then let his gaze fall back onto the paper.

"Me fucking you" he replied "Isn't that what you came here for?"

His voice was calm and cold and it pissed her off to no end.

"You are such a child" she screamed "what the hell does that prove?" she shot at him.

He looked up, his gaze even more cold and hostile.

"Not a damn thing" he replied and it was all she could do not to slap him.

She turned around and walked towards the door, her anger and hurt carrying her like a current of wind, her limbs still feeling oddly light from the pleasure she just experienced. She tore the door open and stormed out not bothering to shut it behind her.


	2. Slow hands

She knew that look.

It never meant anything good.

That look meant, that Emily Gilmore knew something. Something that made her giddy, some knowledge that made her confident, superior and ready to plan an elaborate next step.

She didn't like that look.

She wondered all through dinner what it could mean, but only now, over dessert did she find out what it was.

She should have known.

"So Elisabeth DuGray tells me you are seeing Tristan again" she said with a cat ate the canary smile.

Rory sighed closing her eyes as she heard her mother choke on her sponge cake from across the table.

"What?" she shrieked and Rory looked up at her shaking her head in annoyance, trying to signal to her that they would talk about it later.

"She said she ran into you at Tristan's apartment" Emily went on, her face plastered with a knowing smile.

"What?" Lorelai shrieked even louder.

"Lorelai" Richard commanded, seemingly only now distracted from the paper he was reading. "You were at his apartment?" Lorelai ignored her father and stared at her daughter.

Rory mumbled something about picking up some stuff, trying to escape the hungry stares coming at her from both her grandmother and her mother.

"What could you possibly pick up that was important? After 6 months?" her mother asked and she looked up suddenly annoyed by the whole situation.

"It was nothing, okay? Can we not talk about this?" she snapped and the whole dining room went silent.

They returned to chewing their desserts in silence and Richard went back to his paper.

"Seriously, like did you leave a really expensive pair of shoes, cause that's the only reason I can think of that is worth going back for" Lorelai suddenly rambled, not being able to keep quiet.

Rory sighed annoyed and dropped her fork that hit the porcelain plate with a loud clink as she got up from her chair, walking out of the dining room, her mother following her.

"Don't walk out of there like there is nothing to talk about, Rory" she heard her say as they reached the front door. Rory tore it open and walked outside thankful for the cool air hitting her face.

"God, mother, did it occur to you that maybe I just didn't want to talk about it in there?" she sighed rubbing her eyes.

"Okay, fine, tell me when this happened" her mother said, crossing her arms in expectation.

"What does it matter?" Rory sighed, feeling uncomfortable.

"When?" her mother stood her ground.

"Two weeks ago" she mumbled, her gaze dropping to the pavement.

"What?" Lorelai exclaimed.

"Seriously mom, what's with the shrieking tonight?" she sighed cynically.

"This happened two weeks ago and you told me nothing?!" there was no point in stopping Lorelai when she was going ballistic.

"I'm sorry, but there was not much to talk about" she tried to calm her.

"You went to see your ex boyfriend of three years after breaking up with him six months ago for the first time, and there is nothing worth mentioning?" she asked incredulous.

Rory shrugged.

"This was the first time, right?" Lorelai asked, raising an eyebrow.

Rory sighed annoyed, avoiding her mothers gaze.

"Rory! You've been seeing him?!" came her bewildered question.

"Again the shrieking, you are destroying my ears, mother" she sighed.

"Rory" her mother pushed.

"Yes mom, I've been seeing him, okay? So what? It doesn't mean anything. I don't know what it means, and I don't know what's the point and I don't want to talk about it" she sighed, her expression weary.

"Are you with him again?" Lorelai asked, her voice strangely worried.

"No" she shook her head.

"Not really" she added, her voice faltering, already fearing the reaction.

"Excuse me?" Lorelai shrieked again "Not really? What the hell does that mean?"

"God, mom, can we talk about this some other time?" she groaned once again burying her face in her hands.

"Oh yeah, sure, of course, we can talk about it the next time Emily Gilmore gives me the scoop" Lorelai huffed.

"Mom. I don't know what to tell you, okay?" she yelled, her voice echoing in the dark driveway. "I don't want to talk about it, there is nothing to talk about, I don't even know what to tell myself. I go there and I make a fool of myself and I hurt him, no doubt, and hurt myself, and it's all just a mess and I don't know why I just can't let go. I mean, it's what I wanted, right? So why can't I just move the heck on?" she yelled, tears welling in her eyes.

"Oh baby" Lorelai said, her face suddenly worried, sad.

"I wanted out, so why can't I just shut that damn door?" she sobbed as Lorelai took a step towards her to take her in her arms. She pulled her into a strong hug and let her cry.

"I don't know hun, maybe that's not what you want after all" she whispered.

"Why does it have to be so freaking complicated?" she whined, her sobs breaking deep from her chest.

"I don't know baby" Lorelai hushed her "I don't know"

xxxxxxxxxxxx

"Hey" she heard him greet her casually, and her blood seemed to freeze in her vessels as she recognized the voice.

She looked up from her laptop to see him standing at her table with a to-go cup of coffee of his own.

He had on the dark blue Armani suit, the one that made him look like a fucking model, his shirt loosened and his tie already gone.

She cursed herself as she felt her mouth go dry. She didn't know why he still had this effect on her.

She dropped her gaze back to her laptop and she fidgeted with her own styrofoam cup.

"Hey" she returned the greeting and wondered what to say.

"I..." he stared and she looked up to see him lost for words, guilt showing on his face.

But he didn't finish that sentence, instead leaping into another one.

"How have you been?"

She narrowed her eyes, partly in accusation and partly trying to see into his head, a feat she never could achieve.

"I've been fine, Tristan" she said, her words slightly cynical.

He sighed.

"I'm sorry" he said slowly, swallowing hard and she felt herself take a deep, fast breath, her heart starting to race.

"It's been three weeks" she said quietly, unimpressed, as she dropped her gaze back to the laptop screen.

"Can we talk?" he asked.

"About what?" she retorted, without looking up.

"Us" he replied and she scoffed looking up.

His eyebrow shot up accusingly and she sighed realizing there was a lot on both their accounts by now for any of them to feel superior.

"I don't know Tristan" she sighed "what's the point?"

He looked at her, his eyes serious, contemplating, his gaze piercing through her.

He finally moved, slowly, but determined and his hand shut her laptop as she gasped in protest.

He lifted the laptop, taking it under his arm, grabbing her hand with the other, pulling her off her chair as she barely managed to grab her bag before he pulled her towards the exit.

"Tristan!" she exclaimed but he seemed to not hear it, dragging her after himself, his steps confident and long. She scurried after him, her hand still caught in his strong hold and she pictured how ridiculous the scene must look to the people on the busy sidewalk.

She recognized the direction they were heading in, his apartment only a few blocks away.

He walked without saying a word, his gaze intent and staring in front of himself, his confident walk seemingly parting the crowd in front of them.

She wondered about his walk and how she's always adored it. It seemed to be more of a glide, than a walk, his steps smooth and confident, his whole movement panther-like and efficient, noiseless.

She gasped as he turned sharply, dragging her towards the revolving door nodding to the doorman. He looked at them with a surprised look.

"Mr. DuGray. Miss Gilmore"

She forced out a polite smile as she was dragged past him and into a waiting elevator.

The doors closed with a quiet ding and they both stared at the screen informing them of their gradual ascend.

She realized he still held her hand and it suddenly felt awkward. She pulled her limb away from him and he let her, not looking in her direction.

He walked out as the doors slid open, not bothering to look back if she was following. She sighed for a second contemplating her options and slowly walked out of the elevator, towards the door he's already opened and moved through.

She walked after him, uncertain, the halls of that apartment always holding some unexpected twist and turn for her life. She watched as he walked inside the apartment, placing the hostaged laptop on the coffee table, not bothering to turn on any lights even though the dusk outside made the light fade from minute to minute inside the confined walls.

She came to a stop in the middle of the living room, not moving to take her coat off, instead watching as he paced up and down the quiet room, his hand rubbing his face.

He finally came to a stop staring out over the New York skyline, the city humming with an ever present intensity under the rolling clouds.

"We can't keep doing this, Rory" he said, still looking out through the window, as if it weren't really her he was talking to, but one of the solemn skyscrapers.

"Doing what?" she asked and her voice filled the room with a strange comfort, resonating off the walls that she used to call home.

"This. Competing. Dueling. Hurting each other" he said, his voice tired.

"You seem to have no problem" she accused thinking of the last time she fled this apartment.

"You've done your fair share" he said quietly, still not turning back to face her.

She remained quiet, knowing full well he was right.

"I can't do this. We have to decide what we want or we have to..." he stopped unsure.

"Or we have to?" she asked wryly, already knowing the answer.

"Or we have to let each other go" he said turning around, his blue eyes sad, tired.

Even though the statement was no surprise, it still felt like a slap in the face. She felt that feeling again, the feeling that she thought had started all of this. The feeling of the ground slipping from beneath her feet, the unsureness of it all enveloping her like a suffocating blanket.

She felt her feet move involuntarily, her body turning towards the door.

"Your laptop's still here" he said simply. It wasn't cynical, or cold. Just a simple statement and it suddenly neutralized her drive to flee.

She collapsed into the chair closest to her, suddenly not feeling anything, not having any purpose.

"Talk to me" he said, the desperation barely shining through the words.

"I am sick of talking about it, Tristan" she sighed, closing her eyes in frustration.

"Talk to me, so I can understand" he said again, his voice not pleading, just asking.

"I can't make you understand if I don't understand it myself" she replied.

"You don't love me anymore" he stated, his voice free of accusation, simply stating a fact.

She scoffed.

"I wish it were that simple" she murmured.

"I don't see any other reason why you would move out of here from one day to another without so much as saying a word" he said calmly.

"It was..." she burst out, her words failing her in her frustration "it felt like a friggin' lie!"

"Living with me?" he asked, his voice strained.  
"Everything, suddenly everything felt like a big lie" she yelled, her eyes welling with tears "It was unreal. This isn't me, okay? Happy and beautiful and content with everything and not having any problems and living together happily and..."

"And getting married?" he finished her sentence.

She sighed in frustration.

He stared at her intently, waiting for an affirmation.

"Was this about me asking you to marry me?" he asked.

She scoffed.

"You asked me to marry me and you didn't even realize that I was unhappy" she murmured.

"You weren't, Rory" he retorted.

"How would you know?" she snapped.

"I've been with you for three years, I know!" he shot back, his voice raising for the first time.

The room fell into silence, a sudden bolt of lightning illuminating it.

They listened to each other's laboured breathing as the thunder followed shortly.

"You said no to Logan" he finally said, his voice calm once again.

She looked up in shock.

"What does that have to do with us?" she asked incredulous.

"I don't know. You tell me. Is this some weird pattern, Rory? Is this a test you are supposed to pass before you can win the hand of Rory Gilmore?" he asked.

"You are such a fucking asshole" she spat.

"I am trying to understand, Rory" he raised his voice again.

"Maybe there is nothing to understand, Tristan!" she shot back as she stood up violently "Maybe I just didn't want to be with you anymore, I was sick of being with you, sick of feeling like I should be exhilarated when I wasn't" she yelled.

"Is that really what it was?" he met her angry tone, stepping closer as another lightning tore through the rapidly darkening sky, the thunder following suit.

"Yes!" she spat.

"Was it?" he yelled taking another step "Or are you just so fucking lost you need to destroy everything that's perfect around you?"

She stared into his face, torn and miserable, only inches away from hers.

"Tell me you don't love me" he said, grabbing her arms and pulling her even closer as she struggled to resist "Tell me that's not the reason you find your way back to here every fucking time, Rory" he growled, his voice deeper, more quiet.

She felt the tears stream down her face.

"Tell me" he shook her as she whimpered helpless in his arms.

He stared at her eyes that were blurred with her tears for a long second, his breathing ragged, his face distorted.

He sighed suddenly, as if her silence were proof to him. His arms went around to her back, lifting her effortlessly, guiding her legs to wrap around his hips as he walked toward the dark bedroom, the sounds of the storm hitting the huge windows merciless.

He laid her on the bed, undoing her coat wordlessly as she sobbed, too tired to fight or resist or find reasons that would mean anything.

He kissed her gently, his tongue warm and smooth, gliding over her lips as her cries broke from deep within her with a fresh intensity, as if his tenderness tore down the gates that held her despair, her pain.

His breathing quickened as his hands blindly undressed her, pulling at her shirt and unzipping her skirt, as he kissed her, for the first time in such a long time, their time together finally resembling lovemaking and not just mindless lust.

He sighed between kisses, his hands shaking as he undid the last of her garments, then moved over to his own, hot skin finally meeting pure, pale skin.

She seemed to twist and bend according to his will, her body unconsciously mirroring his wants, his desires.

He melted into her as his erection slipped into her, her moans intertwining with her sobs, his desperate grunts releasing electrical shocks on the surface of her skin. She arched into him as he buried himself into her rhythmically, endlessly gentle and forceful at the same time and she suddenly felt like her body had found herself after a long and weary journey, every cell finding its rightful place around his body, her parts slowly realigning in the place where they always should have been, the final perfect conformation reached just as the shakes and convulsions travelled through her body. Her eyes closed unwillingly and her every part seemed to curl blissfully as through the intense vibration she heard his own muffled cries of pleasure.

Her body seemed to dissolve right after, that soft and senseless lightness lifting her and filling all of her.

It was such a revelation, having that peace come to her, only now making it clear to herself that it was this feeling that she's missed, that she's had to go without for who knows how long.

Sleep seemed to find her easily, and she let go without a fight.


	3. Ocean of Noise

She opened her eyes to the familiar ring of her phone, the soft vibrations coming from the pocket of her coat ruffled at the foot of the bed.

Through the haze of her head she had an idea that it wasn't the first time it rang that evening.

As the room slowly came into focus she noted that it was pitch dark outside, the slow pulsation of the night lights of the buildings setting a silent and steady rhythm.

She heard him rise from next to her, his hands looking for the irritating object eliciting the melody that cut through the silence of the room annoyingly.

She didn't move as she heard him answer the phone.

"Hello" came his voice, calm, alert, making her realise he'd been awake. She could make out the stunned question from the other end of the line even though she couldn't quite understand the words.

"Yeah" he conversed with the caller, his voice not faltering for a second as she heard the voice continuing with the baffled line of questions.

"Yes, she's here" he replied into the small silver phone, calm as a rock.

"She's fine. She'll call you back" he said simply, without any rush or annoyance.

He hung up, cutting off the protesting voice.

She smiled as she heard him shut off the phone completely, tossing it back to where it came from.

She realized how much she's missed that confidence. That refusal of opposition.

She felt the bed shift as he nestled in next to her, close enough for her hairs to stand up on her back, but not quite touching her body.

She smiled at the fact that even though not a part of their bodies were touching, she could still feel the electricity.

She heard him sigh quietly and she turned suddenly to face him, meeting his surprised eyes.

"Thought you were sleeping" he whispered.

She didn't answer, instead focusing on every part of his face, her fingers reaching out to touch the light stubble.

"Was that mom?" she asked, her eyes focused on his lips.

He smirked ever so lightly.

"Yeah" he breathed, his hand absent mindedly traveling up the side of her body, finally landing in her hair, arranging and rearranging the messed up locks.

Her hands too traveled down his body, fingering the seam of his shirt that was ruffled.

"This is your favorite shirt" she noted, memories seemingly flooding her eyes.

He hummed in affirmation.

"It's your lucky shirt" she went on, her voice matter of fact.

He snickered knowing full well where she was going with this.

"You were wearing this on our first date" she went on.

"You mean the first time I got to have sex with you" he corrected.

"Same thing" she shrugged annoyed.

"You like to call that "a date"?" he smirked.

"It was going to be one! So what if you couldn't control yourself and ravaged me in my living room before we ever went out to eat?" she hissed.

"You weren't complaining" he retorted.

She winced and sighed, accepting his argument.

"It seems so far away" she whispered, her voice suddenly small, tired.

"It was" he sighed.

"Would you do it differently? This time around?" she asked, her voice trailing off, her eyes fixed on a button on his shirt that her fingers were toying with.

He furrowed his brows.

"No" he whispered "I wouldn't"

She sighed.

"It was meant to be" he added and she squinted as though his words were too heavy, pushing down on her chest, making it harder for her to breathe.

"Plus I was fucking turned on" he added, as if sensing the need for the mood to be lighter.

It seemed to work, the tension breaking from her chest in the form of a small chuckle as she closed her eyes and let out a sigh.

"Were you?"she teased.

"That dress you were wearing gave me a boner the minute I walked in the door" he replied, his smirk in place.

She blushed and covered her face with her hands.

"Tristan!" she scolded.

"What?" he laughed "It's true!"

"God, you are so childish" she whined.

He snickered and watched as she dropped her hands from her face, her sight once again settling on her favorite button.

He smiled, almost knowing what was coming.

"Tell me how it happened" she said, her voice barely audible.

"What?" he asked, as if he didn't know what she was referring to, a small smile playing on his face.

"Us" she replied, still not looking in his eyes.

His smile grew wider as he heard her request, referring to the age old tradition between them, her asking him to tell her their story, the one she knew just as well as him, yet wanted to hear recited time and time again.

He cleared his throat turning onto his back and settling comfortably on the bed, pulling her slightly with him as he focused his sight on the ceiling above, with Rory's head resting on his chest.

"Well. I believe I was standing on the corner of 61st and Madison, hailing down a cab, when I looked across the street and caught sight of these incredibly familiar set of blue eyes" he started and felt her ease into his hold, her breathing becoming calm.

"I froze and I had this rush of memories from Chilton. Being a clueless teenager, awkwardly trying to get the attention of a girl who was obviously out of my league" he chuckled.

"I was out of your league?" she asked incredulous and he chuckled again, hearing her familiar question.

It was like the lines of a play they recited, over and over again, mostly the same, but with little improvisations that made every one of these conversations unique.

"Yeah, you were" he replied.

"You were the school heartthrob" she retorted.

"I was an ignorant little punk. You were something special even back then. You were out of my league" he elaborated and she didn't protest anymore, a silent signal for him to go on.

"So all these memories came rushing back and they all seem to swirl and morph into the figure standing across from me on the street, her hair disheveled and the wind blowing her skirt up slightly. Now I definitely didn't remember you having legs that hot back in high school" he said, his voice dropping a notch and he felt her laughter rumbling into his chest.

"You stood there and showed no intention to cross the street, so I had to do it, sending the cab on its way. I believe I was grinning like a fool and you broke into one of those smiles"

"What smiles?" she asked.

"One of those when your eyes light up" he replied casually and she smiled into his chest.

"I said 'Hello Rory'..."

"You said Mary" she corrected, her voice accusing.

"Right, it might have been Mary" he chuckled, knowing full well it was.

"It was" she replied.

"And I think I just stared like a stupid fool" he went on, inducing a chuckle from her.

"Why?" she asked, her voice giddy, already anticipating the answer.

"Because you were gorgeous" he replied, pleasing her with his answer.

"Was I?" she played it further.

"Yeah, you were wearing this white shirt, and this overcoat, and your hair was everywhere because of the breeze and your skirt was swirling around you, and your legs went on for miles and your eyes...your eyes were as blue as ever, and that's the only part of your body that didn't change really"

"I said 'Whatcha staring at?', right?" she asked and he laughed.

"Yeah, and you smiled, like you knew that I was falling all over myself" he added.

"It was pretty obvious" she agreed and he laughed again, remembering one of the rare moments when he was lost for words when faced with a woman.

"I said 'You grew up nicely' or something along the lines of that" he continued "and you said 'What, I don't strike you as the Mary, anymore?'. And I believe that is when I chocked on my words and just stared like a dog in heat"

"That's not how I remember it, I think you said 'You strike me as someone dying to have dinner with me tonight" she replied.

He chuckled.

"Oh, right. Smooth" he said.

"I believe I replied: Tristan Du-Cocky-as-Ever-Gray" she said, her voice thoughtful and he chuckled again remembering her words.

"But you agreed nevertheless" he added.

"Yeah, it was temporary insanity" she replied cynically.

"Oh yeah? If that was temporary insanity, what do you call later that night?" he arched an eyebrow.

"The result of several months of lack of sex?" she tried and he chuckled, his hands caressing the small of her back.

"I went to pick you up and you buzzed me in saying you needed another minute and I should wait on the couch instead of the street"

"I couldn't find my earrings" she explained.

"Earrings my ass. You just wanted me in your apartment" he retorted.

She gasped.

"I did not" she denied.

"I walked in and you were all flustered and you mumbled something about your apartment being a mess and you only needing another minute and I swear you looked so nervous that I just wanted to calm you down..." he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.

"Okay, you are bending the facts right now" she said trying to turn to look at him, but he held her in her spot on his chest.

"So I grabbed your hands and stopped you when you wanted to disappear into your room and you looked at me all confused, your breathing hitching..."

"Are you just describing a Danielle Steel plotline right now?" she said annoyed.

"And I said 'Relax, it's just a dinner' and you just stared at me and then launched into my arm..."

"Excuse me?! This is all in your head buster"

"And kissed me like you had been waiting to do that since the day I left Hartford" he said dramatically.

"Okay, shut up, this is not how it was. I seem to remember you mentioning a boner when seeing my dress" she said accusingly.

"Okay, fine so you opened the door and I saw you in that black dress and wanted to fuck you right there, so I did. It sounds a lot less romantic" he sighed.

"It's the truth though" she pointed out.

"Yeah" he agreed chuckling.

His hands went back to roam her body and she eased into his arms once again, the silence settling in on them.

"So how was it?" she asked, her voice back to being small and he smiled again, as the conversation resumed its familiar route.

"It was... incredible" he said, pausing for a second "You were beautiful and electric and incredible to touch and... you moaned when I kissed the side of your neck and it made me go nuts... and you whimpered when I lifted you and wrapped your legs around my waist" he said, taking a breath, knowing this is the part where she usually got turned on by him reciting the story.

"And?" she asked, her voice breathy, her muscled tensing under his roaming hands.

"And I took you into your bedroom and pulled your panties off and was so fucking eager I didn't even take my clothes off, just unzipped my pants and lay on top of you..." he stopped hearing her let out a long breath and doing a little moan, as her body melted into his.

He felt himself harden thanks to the memories flooding his brain and her obvious arousal elicited by his words.

"Go on" she breathed as she turned to straddle him, her naked form slipping from the sheets that were covering her up till now.

He looked at her, recognizing the lust in her eyes, swirling in a deep blue. His hands wandered up her sides, sliding along her breasts and landing on her neck, brushing her hair back.

"I pinned your hands up above your head and I slipped into you" he went on, his mouth going dry as he felt her small hands drag on his boxers, freeing his growing erection.

"What did it feel like?" she asked in a whisper and he closed his eyes moaning as he felt her grasp him, stroking him to a full erection.

"God" he mumbled, his mind going fuzzy, making it impossible for him to concentrate.

"What did it feel like?" she repeated her question, leaning over him, her breasts grazing his chest through his shirt.

"You felt warm" he choked out, her rhythmic pumping sending shivers up his spine and making his mind go blank "and tight... and wet...God... you were so fucking wet" he breathed.

"Like this?" she whispered as she repositioned herself, her center meeting with his expectant erection and his eyes went wide, feeling her warm, wet heat sliding along his length.

"Fuck" he cursed, not being able to hold back anymore, his hands landing on her hips as he slammed up into her, filling her up with one hard thrust.

She cried out and it made him go crazy with want.

He cursed again, breathing her name as he lifted her slightly and then slammed back into her.

"Go on" she moaned between thrusts.

He set a steady rhythm and forced out the words as he stared up at her writhing form.

"I fucked you so... hard that you... came twice" he grunted.

Her answer was an unintelligible moan, almost sending him over the edge.

He felt her increase the rhythm and he knew she was close. He guided her movements with his hands, bringing her harder down on him with every thrust as he gathered all his strength to be able to formulate the next words.

"And when you... came... the second time... you panted my... name..."

She was riding him with full force now, her moans becoming a continuous murmur.

"And that... pushed me over... and I spilled into you... screaming" he grunted feeling her muscles go stiff as she started contracting around him.

"Triiiis..." she panted, their pattern repeated and he cursed as he slammed into her one last time, cumming into her as she collapsed on top of him.

He took deep breaths, trying to fill his lungs with oxygen as his heart still beat wildly in his chest, his fingers shaking as he traced her back.

He listened to her breathing finally slowing, her dead weight on him proof of how spent she must have felt.

"It was..." he resumed the story, his voice still strained "incredible... I never wanted to leave"

"You hardly did" she scolded "I had to kick you out the next morning"

He chuckled.

"Hey, again, I don't remember you complaining" he pointed out "You came, what? 4-5 times that night?"

"6" came her embarrassed answer, her face still buried in his chest.

"Wow. I am a god" he deadpanned and she chuckled as he caressed her hair in the quiet of the dark room.

xxxxxxxxxx

He flexed his muscles as he turned onto his back, his eyes opening slowly, still heavy with sleep. He listened to the complete silence around him for a long second as a sinking feeling came over him, the events of last night now a clear memory in his head. He sat up suddenly, his eyes searching the room bathed in the grayish light of the autumn morning.

"Rory" he sighed, already knowing that the apartment would be empty.

He kidded himself nevertheless, telling himself she would be in the kitchen searching the top shelves of his cabinets for hidden coffee, her bare feet on tiptoes as her long legs peeked out of his favorite shirt, barely buttoned over her naked figure.

He walked out of his bedroom, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet and he froze seeing the post-it on the mirror next to the front door.

His jaw clenched as he walked up to the note, his fingers tearing it from its spot.

All it said was 'I'm sorry'.

His anger boiled over as he balled his hands, crumpling the piece of yellow paper and his fist smashed into the mirror breaking it into a million little pieces shattering on the floor.


	4. Our love to admire

She climbed up the narrow flight of stairs, the overhead light flickering above her head as she concentrated on not missing her step. She passed by the banged up doors, hearing muffled sounds of people arguing, or blaring television sets or children screaming as she turned the corners on every floor, feeling relieved as she started the last flight.

She stopped suddenly, seeing him sitting on the top of the stairs, his expression tired but calm.

They stared at each other for what seemed like a good couple of seconds, the eerie atmosphere of the dark stairway enveloping them.

She took a deep breath readying herself for another conversation that would probably end futile or with the two of them resolving their frustration toward each other and the world through mindless sex.

He stood up without saying a word moving to the side giving her room to open the door leading to her apartment.

She dug into her pocket, fishing out the keys and then moving to open the several locks on the door.

She pushed her weight against the door, that opened with a slight creak and walked inside as he followed behind, shutting the door.

She threw her coat off and sat in the armchair in the middle of the small living room looking up at him.

She mused over the fact how out of place he looked there, in that beat up, cramped apartment of hers that she found to start a new life in, one that was provided for by her and not her boyfriend or parents or grandparents.

She studied his face for a second, that managed to stay smooth and calm despite all the pain and hurt she knew he suffered through growing up and finding himself. Her eyes wandered over his body, toned and strong, yet still slender, clad in his usual Sunday uniform of jeans and a shirt, with his signature leather jacket to guard him from the unusually early cold outside. Her eyes travelled down to his hands and he noticed the bruise.

"What happened to your hand?" she got up absent minded, walking over to him with concern in her eyes, taking his hand into her own as she studied the several cuts on the back of his hand.

He pulled away from her and she looked up, remembering the solemn mood.

"I'm not going to do this anymore" he said, speaking for the first time and the tone of his voice shocked her. It was low, quiet, indifferent.

"I came to tell you that" he continued.

"I'm sorry, I am" she cut him off, repeating the sentiment she left on his mirror "but last night didn't change anything... I woke up and it's not all suddenly fixed" she rambled, her voice feverish.

"Stop making it seem like it was something I did, Rory" he groaned.

"It isn't! It isn't. That's the thing. I wish I had a reason for how I feel, but I don't. All I know is that we sink back into our routine and I wake up the next day and it feels like I am drowning, like I tried to forget that it all wasn't right, but then I realize that it isn't..." she went on, her eyes darting from one spot to another.

"Stop it" he yelled at her frustrated, his hands going up to rub his eyes and she gasped, taken aback by his sudden burst of anger.

"I am sick of this, Rory. I am sick of trying to understand" he went on, his voice suddenly calmer, his tone back to being indifferent.

"That's what I came to tell you" he said, his eyes focusing on hers "I am done"

She stared at him, the finality of his words sending a chill down her spine.

He took a step back, his expression faltering for a second, his eyes watering up for the briefest moment.

"I am not going to come here anymore" he said turning around to walk the short distance to the door "and I don't want you to come to me anymore either" he said stopping for a second before he turned the doorknob and walked out of the small apartment shutting the door behind him.

She stared at the door, not able to move, her heart beating wildly in her chest. It was like a dream, the last couple of minutes and she squeezed her eyes shut trying to wake herself.

She didn't. She opened her eyes to the same room, the same feeling of guilt and hurt and anger.

She slumped back down into the armchair and sighed.

She wanted to scream, but the last sane thought in her head told her he would probably still hear, two floors down as he descended the stairs.

She couldn't really tell where the anger came from. She was angry at herself, feeling guilty for not knowing what she wanted, for going back and forth and creating a mess in her own life and everyone else's, that was a given. But there was something else. She was angry at him... for not fighting.

She scoffed, feeling stupid, realizing she had no right to feel that way.

He tried, god knows the poor bastard had.

She leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling, her anger not dissolving, despite the rationale.

And the tears slowly rolled down her cheeks.

She closed her eyes, biting back the sobs as her feelings no longer respected her will to stay calm and put together.

How dare he? How dare he give up on her?

Even if she was delirious and stupid and selfish and rude and messed up.

How dare he give up on her?

She reached for the first thing her hands could find and moments later the ugly crystal vase of a past Christmas shattered on the front door, the crashing sounds followed by her sobs finally breaking from deep within.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lorelai got out of her Jeep and stared at Rory's car in their driveway.

She smiled brightly, but immediately narrowed her eyes, pondering what could have brought her busy daughter here from the city on a Sunday evening. She walked up the lawn, kicking away the children's toys scattered on the grass.

She opened the front door to find the living room empty.

"I'm hoooome" she yelled in a sing-song voice as she took off her coat, and headed towards the kitchen.

She was greeted by the sight of her husband trying to feed their baby boy something very orange as Rory looked on horrified.

"Oh my god" she deadpanned "what is that?!"

"I think it's snails with orange dye" Rory replied not missing a beat, staring at Luke trying to feed the baby.

"I think it's play dough" Lorelai countered.

Luke groaned.

"Will you two stop it. It's carrots" he said as he tried to maneuver the spoon into the baby's mouth.

"Carrots, carrots" Lorelai repeated the word thoughtfully "have you ever heard of such things?"

"It must be some new genetically engineered stuff. The things they come up with, amazing" Rory replied in mock seriousness and laughed as the baby slapped the spoon away, effectively covering Luke in the orange goo.

"That's my boy!" Lorelai exclaimed pulling the giggling baby out of his chair "I am so proud of you, David!"

Luke sighed, wiping his face with a towel.

"He's going to have to eat something proper, Lorelai" he said.

"Exactly, pop-tarts" she teased as he rolled his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" she turned to Rory.

"Visiting" she said not meeting her eyes.

"Visiting?" Lorelai asked, narrowing her eyes "On a Sunday night?" she asked "Sunday being the day before Monday, when you will have to go to work" she went on, her tone cynical.

Rory sighed.

"To your desk at the New York Times" Lorelai continued "The paper you pretty much live at"

"What, I can't come to visit?" she snapped.

"No, you can most certainly come visit" she laughed "but I doubt it's just to see your beautiful family"

"I had an afternoon off and I thought I would drive down here to see you guys" she said taking her brother from her mother's arm.

"It's a two hour drive, Rory" Lorelai said, her voice more quiet.

Rory looked at her, her face frustrated as Luke looked up from his cleaning, sensing the tension.

"Why don't I take David upstairs to clean up?" he asked and took the baby from Rory, who sat down in a huff.

"You wanna tell me what's going on?" Lorelai asked sitting down by the table across form Rory.

"Nothing, mom, nothing's going on. Can't I just come and see you guys?" she snapped again.

Her mother eyed her suspiciously.

Rory shuffled in her chair under the intense stare, avoiding her mother's eyes.

"I called you last night and Tristan picked up. You still wanna stick to the nothing is up story?" Lorelai asked, raising an eyebrow.

Rory sighed, burying her face in her hands. She had forgotten about that call.

"God" she sighed.

"You went to see him again?" Lorelai asked quietly.

"I slept with him again" Rory replied and her mother cringed.

"Euphemism kid, get one" she groaned.

Rory stared at the table in front of them.

"I take it it's not all fun and games being back with him?" Lorelai probed.

"I split in the morning and he got so mad he said he never wanted to see me again" Rory stated matter of factly.

"Ouch" her mother said, her hand patting the back of hers "I'm sorry"

"God mom, I am so screwed up" she broke down, once again burying her face in her hands "what the hell was I thinking?"

"Going there? Or leaving?" Lorelai asked, trying to understand.

Rory looked up sighing.

"Rory, I am on your side here, but I am not exactly following. You come home one day and you announce you broke it off with him because you feel trapped and unhappy and you want a real chance at being happy and finding your own life. Then six months later I find out, from my mother no less, that you've been seeing him all along"

"I haven't been seeing him" she frowned.

"This is the euphemism I've been talking about" Lorelai said.

"Right" Rory mouthed getting back to her favorite spot on the table.

"Rory, honey, you have to decide what you want" Lorelai said, her voice pleading "If there was a real reason for you leaving, than stick to that. Just because you feel lonely and weak, it's no reason to go back to him and lead him on"

"Well I couldn't if I wanted to" she sighed "he doesn't want to see me anymore"

Her mother eyed her worried.

"I doubt he meant it" she replied.

"He did" Rory sighed stubbornly "I've never seen him so cold" she mumbled.

"He was hurt" Lorelai offered.

"He said he was done with me" she frowned.

"If I had a penny for every time I heard that, kid" Lorelai sighed tucking a loose strand of Rory's hair behind her ears.

"You decide what you want, okay?" she said as she watched Rory's eyes become teary "you go and decide and then let the rest of us know, okay?"

Rory nodded as the tears rolled down her face.

"I was driving here, you know" she started, her voice weak and wavering "and I couldn't stop thinking about the day he proposed"

"You never told me about that" she whispered with a wry smile.

"Yeah, well I left him the morning after, so there was other things to discuss" she sobbed bitterly.

Lorleai sighed as she wiped her daughter's tears.

"So how did he? Ask you?" Lorelai asked.

Rory smiled a halfhearted smile.

"I was walking home from work and he called me on my cell" she said, remembering that day last April.

_Her phone rang and she scrambled to get it out of her bag._

_"Hello?" she said, balancing a stack of folders in one hand and her bag in the other._

_"Hey gorgeous" she heard his warm greeting and smiled instantly "what are you up to?"_

_"I'm done for today, heading home" she replied managing to rearrange all of her stuff securely, so she could resume walking on the busy New York sidewalk._

_"Yeah? Where are you at?" he asked, his voice nonchalant._

_"I am at..." she looked around, checking the signs on the corner and she smiled realizing where she was "I'm at 61st and Madison" she chuckled._

_"Hmmm. Funny, so am I" he replied and she gasped as she stopped walking, looking around. His blue eyes caught her own as she saw him standing across the street looking at her, his cell phone attached to his ear._

_"Wanna do a reenactment?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips and she laughed wholeheartedly._

_"Sure" she replied into her cell, laughing as he proceeded to hail down a cab._

_She watched as a yellow car pulled up in front of him and her eyes focused on something small and black on top of it._

_"Hmmm, this is interesting" he said into his cell and she watched as he took the box off the top of the cab._

_"What is it?" she asked, squinting her eyes to see better._

_She watched him open the box and turn it towards her and although she couldn't make out what it was, the spring sunshine sent a sparkly flash her way as it reflected off of the content of the small jewelry box._

_"Looks like an engagement ring" he said, his voice warm and low._

_She gasped as she stared, frozen in her spot, watching as he looked around carefully, before crossing the street._

_"That's not how it happened at all" she mumbled, her heart racing as he slowly came to stop in front of her._

_"Improvisation" he offered, still talking into the phone even though they were standing mere inches away from each other "it's my forte" he said, smirk in place and her eyes crept down to the small box he was holding, with the platinum diamond ring sparkling brightly inside._

_"I gotta hang up now, there is something I gotta do" he chuckled as he flipped his phone shut, putting it away into his pocket._

_Her mouth went dry as he looked back up into his eyes._

_"Rory Gilmore" he started and she took a shallow breath, closing her eyes in anticipation "would you be willing to be running into me on this corner for the rest of our lives?" he asked her, his eyes sparkling as he looked at her._

_The tension broke from her chest in a form of a small chuckle and she smiled at him, her minds racing with thoughts about how he managed to orchestrate all of this._

_"Yes" she whispered and he laughed, taking her into his arms and kissing her hungrily._

She finished telling the story, a small smile playing on her lips as her mother watched her quietly.

"Wow" Lorelai said "that's... that's original"

"It was perfect" Rory replied, her voice becoming solemn again.

"So why can't it always feel like that?" she asked her mother as the tears once again started to fall.

"Aww, honey" her mother caressed her face "it's not going to always feel like that. It can't. But if you have that, even just every now and then, it's a feeling worth fighting for" she whispered.

Rory closed her eyes as her emotions took over, the tears finally falling freely as her mother pulled her into a strong hug.


	5. Slowdancing in a burning room

She stood in the corner of the ballroom, scanning the crowd continuously. She took another sip from her martini as her hand unconsciously slid down her side, evening out the ruffles of her satin dress.

She didn't know why she felt so nervous.

Well, she had an idea.

Standing in the middle of the annual banquette of Richard's insurance company she knew very well that he'd be there. His law firm had been representing Richard's insurance company for two years now. It was one of the things she was worried about first. She didn't like to mix her family and private life, but her grandfather had been so impressed by her boyfriend that he insisted on the venture. And it turned out to be quite a success. He'd manage to impress the elite Hartford circle who'd lost track of him when his family sent him away to military school and was impressed to reacquaint with a successful and determined young professional.

Rory smiled.

He did change a lot since his days as Chilton's reigning king. That whole persona seemed to have been left behind somewhere during that confused and lonely time in North Carolina and the years after when he realized he will never find someone who he can count more on than his own little self. She often wondered how a soul that everyone had given up on, could find the courage, strength and will to become a better man with plans, a future and plenty to share. He had become serious, solemn even at times, but he never lost his cocky sense of humor or playful look on life. As he always said, he was still that messed up kid in the inside even if he managed to fool everyone and run a successful firm.

She would watch the two of them, Richard and Tristan, pretending to be reading, but secretly studying the two as they would talk business for nights on end. Tristan seemed to age instantly, his voice serious, his expression thoughtful, focused. He loved his work, it fit him and it gave him a stability he could trust, count on, perhaps something that was a compensation for a childhood that was spent without guidance or true affection.

She was startled out of her thoughts by the waiter, who offered to take her now empty glass. She smiled politely and once again scanned the vast room, full of chattering socialites and businessmen.

Her eyes suddenly caught his, standing across the room looking at her intently. Her heart seemed to stop beating and she felt lightheaded as she stood his stare, emotionless and unreadable. She thought there was a slightest nod in his head, but she couldn't say for sure.

Suddenly she felt stupid and silly. For being here, for staring at him, for wanting to see him, for having left like she did again, for changing her mind again, and for having sat in her own apartment contemplating whether to come to this function or not, calculating whether he'd be here or not, whether she should wear sexy or restrained, whether she should drink more or none at all.

She cursed herself and for a brief moment contemplated fleeing.

She watched him as he looked around carefully as if checking for hidden dangers before descending the stairs to the ballroom, heading her way.

She took a shaky breath and started her own descend, keeping her eyes on him as they neared each other, the crowd seemingly parting for them as if their radiance had that power to clear space.

His face was serious, his brows furrowed as his eyes seemed to burn a hole through her. He studied her for a second as they came to stand in front of each other, groups of people chattering around them.

She opened her mouth to speak but he looked around frustrated and put his hand on the small of her back, guiding her to the side to somewhere a slight bit more private.

Rory took another shaky breath as she felt his hand on her, pushing her into a secluded corner, his warmth penetrating the smooth fabric of her dress.

She turned around to face him as he looked around part frustrated, part annoyed.

"What are you doing here?" he whispered, his eyes still scanning the room, refusing to look at her.

"I came because of my grandfather" she said, defensively.

"Bullshit" he said and his eyes focused back on hers, the intensity of them making Rory gasp.

"You never come to these things, Rory, I had to beg for you to join me last year" he said, his voice low and accusing.

"My grandparents invited me and I came" she said, her voice determined, her anger imminent.

He scoffed quietly and studied her face, his eyes narrowing in concentration as if he were trying to see into her head.

She squirmed under his gaze, looking everywhere to be able to escape his burning eyes.

"Are you trying to provoke me, Rory? I meant what I said" he started but she cut him off.

"I didn't come here to do anything but to smile and nod while my grandparents prance me around like a show dog, okay? Not everything has to do with you" she growled, her voice dangerously deep.

He stopped talking, his face once again calming as he obviously tried to restrain himself. She noticed his slightly laboured breathing, a characteristic of him whenever he was trying to control his emotions.

It turned her on to no end.

She suddenly wished he would pull her into a quiet room, giving her body what she had been craving ever since she last left his apartment.

"I meant what I said" he repeated himself, this time more calm and indifferent as if his attempt to regain control of his body had been successful.

She gasped slightly.

"Tristan, I..." she started, her voice slightly hurt.

"No, I mean it, Rory" he cut her off "I am sick of hurting each other and I can't for the life of me figure out what you want"

"Maybe I just want time" she intercepted, her voice accusing.

"I've given you time" he shot at her as loud as their hushed tone allowed him, the anger in his voice making her gasp.

"I've given you time and I am not giving you anything anymore" he repeated himself, this time his tone quiet enough for it not to spark the interest of the people around them.

The finality of his words hit Rory like a log, as he turned around disappearing into the chattering crowd of socialites.

She took a deep breath, trying to hold back the tears that were stinging the back of her eyes.

She felt hurt and humiliated and... guilty. She knew he could tell she had ulterior motives coming here, of course he did. He knew her like no one else, knew her ways. She shouldn't have been so foolish as to think he wouldn't see the real reason.

She looked up and started walking after him with a new found determination. She maneuvered through the crowds of people, trying to spot his familiar blondness.

When she finally did, he was talking to an older gentleman, his society smile planted on his face.

Rory walked up and grabbed his arm, catching him off guard.

"Will you excuse us for a minute?" she asked politely and the man looked on as she dragged a shocked Tristan with her, leading him out to a balcony.

"Don't cause a fucking scene, Rory" he warned, his voice low, quiet.

She turned around in a huff and the words poured out of her mouth.

"Okay, I came here hoping to see you, alright? I hate the way we are, Tristan, I can't just move on and pretend there is nothing between us"

"This was your decision, Rory" he said, with a restrained voice, glancing back towards the ballroom as if trying to determine how many people could hear.

"It wasn't" she countered.

"It was" he shot back, this time more loud "You left. You left for the hundredth time!" he said and in the first time that evening she saw the hurt in his eyes.

"I had to get out of there Tristan, when I am there, I can't think straight. I wanted to do that. I wanted to think straight" she reasoned.

"God" he groaned frustrated "Rory, do you hear yourself speaking?" he asked and she looked at him confused.

"You make no sense, you make no fucking sense at all, you haven't been making any sense for the last six months" he said in hushed tones, still trying to prevent a scene from happening.

She stood there amids his accusations.

"You didn't want to marry me, fine, I can understand that, you could have told me that straight out, you didn't have to leave the next day and leave me to figure it out on my own"

"Tristan, that's not..." she tried to cut in but it was no use stopping his angry rant.

"I didn't once question you about it, I didn't once pressure you, I would have been fine with you coming back and us moving on. But you just came back for sex" he said and she closed her eyes accepting his verdict.

"Every fucking time I thought it would be different, but you'd be gone the next morning. Do you know what it feels like to wake up and find you gone without explanation? Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?" he asked, his face contorted into a frown as his emotions took over.

"I'm sorry" she whispered as a tear rolled down her cheek.

"No" he shouted "quit saying that. Stop saying that, Rory, because you don't mean it!"

"Look" she said, trying to steady her voice, eager to take back the lead "I know I messed up and I know that I am messed up, I wish I could move on, I do, because you deserve to be happy, you deserve better..." she pleaded.

"Shut the hell up, Rory" he scoffed "Don't insult me"

"I want to move on, every time I leave I do, because I want to stop hurting you" she said, her voice quiet, her words careful, as if this were the last time she could try to explain herself.

He looked at her silently, listening to her, not as a choice but rather as lack of anything else to say, as if he ran out of strength and words.

"I decide it's the best and I decide I'll stay away. But then I remember how we were, how we used to be" she went on, the tears cascading down her face "and I get so homesick, it hurts" He took a deep breath, as if trying to guard off the effect her words were having on him.

"And I go back, despite myself, I crawl back into your arms and try to make it feel like it did before, try to pretend everything is perfect, the way it's meant to be and it is... for moments it is..." she continued, her voice faltering.

"But then I wake up and I feel that void, that feeling of it all being just a lie, of me just pretending to be happy. Like it's a curse. Like I am not meant to really be content. I can't pretend. I can't look you in the eye and smile when it feels like it's not true, so I leave. And I pray that I can figure out why I feel this way so I can fix it, so I won't feel like that the next time" she finished, looking at him helplessly.

He sighed, trying to block the tears that were watering up his eyes.

"That's great Rory" he sighed "that's really great" he said, his voice full of hurt and she took a step towards him, so eager to comfort him.

He raised an arm signaling her to stop.

"Let me help you out then" he said, his voice calming as he took another couple of deep breaths.

She looked at him questioning.

"Maybe there just isn't a way to fix it. Maybe you just have to stay away for good" he said and his words stung like a knife, her tears once again freely flowing.

"And if you're not strong enough to stay away, then I'll have to be" he said.

"Tristan..." she took another step shaking her head but was stopped by another voice saying his name.

They both looked towards the ballroom and Rory saw a tall blond girl with a careful half smile on her face.

"There you are" she said as she looked at him, then at Rory, studying her with recognition.

"I'll be right in, Anna" he told her and Rory glanced from one to the other, realizing she was his date. A date he brought to her grandparents' soiree.

The girl disappeared into the ballroom and Tristan focused on the ground as if slightly ashamed.

Rory took a deep breath, clearing her throat and wiping her eyes.

"Rory" he spoke and his voice was calm and warm, for the first time that evening "I want us to stop hurting each other"

She nodded trying to keep her composure.

He opened his mouth, but then gave up trying to find anything more to say.

He turned to walk inside the ballroom, stopping for a second.

"Goodbye" he said without turning around, before he left her alone on the balcony, not waiting for an answer.

xxxxxxxxxxx

"He brought a date" Lorelai heard her daughter's voice and she looked up from the carpet of the living room where she had been watching Luke and her baby boy play.

She saw Rory, who just walked in through the door, dressed in a silver satin dress, her hair pulled back in a loose bun, her expression in a frown as she stared at the happy family.

"Tinkerbell!" David giggled pointing to Rory and Lorelai couldn't help but chuckle as she saw Rory furrow her brows even more.

"I knew it" she grumbled "I should have worn the red one"

"What are you doing here?" Lorelai looked on shocked, trying to keep a straight face.

"He. Brought. A. Date" she replied, as if that were a perfectly reasonable answer.

"And that's my cue to head on upstairs" Luke said getting up from the floor, picking up his son who couldn't stop giggling as he stared at Rory in awe.

"Who are you talking about?" Lorelai smiled.

"He brought a date. A pretty one. A pretty, tall, blond date" Rory went on not taking notice of her mother's question as she paced up and down the room.

"I take it we are talking about Tristan... Wait a second, you went to Adolf and Dora's party?" she looked on shocked.

"Yes, I went there and he brought a date" Rory looked at her.

"Oy" Lorelai squinted "Sorry, babe"

"I can't believe he's already dating" Rory sighed, collapsing into the couch as the satin layers settled around her in quiet waves.

"He probably did it to piss you off" Lorelai said as she took a seat next to her, trying to comfort her.

"No mom, he didn't know I was coming, he was shocked to see me" she murmured, burying her face in her hand.

"I don't blame him, this dress really does make you look like Tinkerbell" Lorelai replied, trying to lighten the mood.

Rory gave her a scolding look.

"Sorry" Lorelai mouthed as she pulled a stray lock of her from her daughter's face.

"So you went to see him?" she asked, shifting the conversation.

Rory sighed, looking uncomfortable.

"Much good that did me" she mumbled.

"But you went there to see him" Lorelai went on, eying her daughter carefully "why, Rory? What was the point?" she asked, her voice incredulous.

"I wanted to talk to him, I guess" Rory replied defensively, her shoulders slouching in defeat.

"Well, did you?" Lorelai asked, holding her breath as she waited for her reply.

"Yes. No" Rory answered as she got up from the couch, frustrated, resuming her pacing "Yes. But it was like we were repeating ourselves over and over again. I am saying the same thing and obviously as the words fly through the air, they get jumbled up or magically get translated into Chinese or something because he doesn't seem to understand"

"Yeah, I hate when the magical translation happens" Lorelai smiled a half smile.

"And the thing is, that I don't understand either. Okay, maybe I just made a mistake and I am trying to make things seem less crazy, but I obviously messed up and I don't know how to undo everything" she went on, her voice becoming more and more emotional.

"Rory, honey, stop saying that" she sighed.

"But it's true mom, I don't even make sense to myself, he is right" Rory sighed exhausted, looking at her mother is despair.

"Rory, I can see why he is saying this to you, I, myself am having a hard time following you and your feelings " Lorelai said as she stood up to walk to her daughter.

"But I know you. I know you are not irrational. And I know you wouldn't throw away something that is important to you without any rhyme or reason. You did this for a reason, and hell" she said, her face becoming serious "if he loves you, if he really loves you, he should stick it out no matter what. He should stick it out even if you suddenly turn green and all your clothes burst open. Just like you stuck it out with him when he was depressed and finding himself and figuring out himself"

Rory looked down, her eyes welling up with tears.

"You were there for him, you supported him..." Lorelai went on, her voice determined.

"That was different" Rory whispered.

"No it wasn't. He was in a dark place, he was lonely and unable to trust anyone and you stood by him and waited for him to come around..." Lorelai continued.

"Mom, he had a genuine reason. He was abandoned by his family, sent away when he became a nuisance. He was on his own since age 16" Rory reasoned, her voice emotional as she talked about his past "What reason do I have? That I am unable to accept happiness?"

"No" her mother said wiping away her daughter's tears "Everything has a reason. Maybe you're just not able to be honest with yourself about what that reason was" she smiled a wry smile.

"I don't know anymore, mom. I don't know why I did what I did. I don't know anything anymore" she whispered as her mother pulled her into a hug, strong and comforting.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He was hunching over his desk, rereading a contract for the fortieth time that day as the raindrops hitting his huge window created a steady murmur in the quiet office.

He suddenly looked up, sensing he was not alone, his eyes landing on a painfully familiar set of blue orbs.

He sighed closing his eyes in frustration.

"Your secretary was already gone, I let myself in" she said quietly as she walked up to his desk taking a seat from across him.

"Lorelai" he sighed again "to what do I owe this pleasure to?" he asked looking up at her, not hiding his annoyance.

"I need to talk to you about Rory" she said, her face determined.

He looked at her unimpressed as she stared at him waiting for his reaction.

"Talk away" he finally said with dismissal in his voice.

"She is very unhappy" Lorelai started, her eyes focusing on objects on his desk, as if she were trying to gain strength from the meticulously placed folders and stacks of paper.

He scoffed, his face in a frown, but she ignored it, continuing her speech.

"She is confused and I think she made a mistake..."

He cut her off by leaning over his desk, his voice angry and his tone low.

"Which one are you referring to, Lorelai? Her walking out on me the day after she accepted my proposal? Or her walking right back a couple of weeks later to spend the night and then disappear the next morning? Or her repeating this for several months despite me trying time and time again to talk with her and work it out with her?"

He finished his angry rant staring at the helpless woman in front of him, his eyes beaming and the silence in the office suddenly settling over them like a heavy blanket.

"Probably all of the above" Lorelai tried, her eyes pleading.

Tristan scoffed again, leaning back into his chair, his energy suddenly draining from him.

"Look, I know you are angry, I came here to try to explain her actions" she pleaded.

"You don't need to explain it to me, Lorelai" he started, his voice suddenly, quiet, calm "I know the reasons. She is your daughter"

She furrowed her brows not quite understanding.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked, her voice defensive.

"It means she is as irrational as you are when it comes to accepting happiness" he replied, staring right into her eyes.

"That's harsh" she said, not even trying to hide the hurt in her voice.

"She is repeating your mistakes. Messing up a good thing, leaving, going back, being uncertain and hurting everyone in the process" he went on, his voice objective, indifferent.

"This is not about me" she said, her voice raising slightly.

"Oh but it is" he said with a smirk "Everything is always about you, Lorelai"

She furrowed her brows again trying to see where he was going with this.

"You raised her to be your clone and even now you feel the need to influence her decisions"

"That's not true, it's..." she protested, but failed, not being able to find any words to prove her side.

"Tell me you would have been happy if she said yes" he said, his voice now hostile.

She gasped, her eyes shooting sparks.

"I would have supported whatever decision she..." she started.

"Bullshit" he cut her off "You never liked me. She knew that"

"Oh okay, I think you are being a bit paranoid" she retorted.

"You thought I was the rebound guy" he stated, his voice suddenly amused and she couldn't take his cynical tone.

She got up and walked around the room nervously.

"You thought I was a poor replacement for Logan" he went on, his tone hurtful.

She scoffed and turned to face him.

"Oh well, geez, Tristan, forgive me the thought ever crossed my mind" she shot "You are rich, blond, cocky, successful..."

"And it just pissed you off that you drove one away and she would pick someone just like that" he chuckled.

"That is not true, I was concerned however that she would build a life trying to resemble the one she threw away" she shot back.

"Has it ever occured to you that maybe that's the life she wants?" he asked her and she stood dumbfounded.

"That maybe there is a reason he finds the rich, cocky guys? That maybe there was a reason she played the society kid for a full semester back when she dropped out of Yale? That there is a reason she manages your parents better than you?" he yelled at her, coming to stand behind his desk, his arms supporting his weight on the desk.

"You worked so fucking hard to keep her away from that, so that she could support your decision to throw all that away for a simpler life. But you know what? She can make up her own mind. And not everything about that life is horrible" he spat.

"Maybe she can be happy with the rich, cocky dude" he went on, his voice calming, as a sneer formed on his lips "despite you never managing to be"

She looked at him questioning.

"Yeah, that's right. You know who else is rich, cocky and blond?" he sneered as he sat back into his chair.

"Christopher" she whispered, as she humped down back into her own seat, her eyes lost in the distance as realization dawned on her.

"It's like you are fucking trying to live through her" he mumbled not even looking at her anymore, his eyes focusing on the contract again, pen in hand.

She sat in the chair, trying to fight back the tears that were stinging the back of her eyes.

"She makes her own decisions" she tried one last time, her voice faltering from all the emotions.

He looked up at her again, his face mirroring his true hurt for the first time that evening.

"I wish she would, but I fear you did a better job than you think you did at turning her into you"

xxxxxxxxxx

She stared at the ceiling of her room, listening to the storm calming outside. She loved that sound. The last bouts of wind shaking and rattling the trees, the thunder becoming soft and distant as it follows the fading lightning bolts onto regions unknown, the night air fresh and cool after the expectant warmness before the storm.

She was startled by her ringtone, breaking the silence of the room and she sighed as she picked up the phone.

"Yeah?" she asked, her voice surprisingly small.

"I talked to Tristan" she heard her mother say, her voice uneasy as if she were caught stealing candy.

"What? You called him?" Rory groaned, imagining her mother's antics.

"No... I .. went to New York" came the careful reply.

She waited for a second, closing her eyes, a blush creeping to her face despite her being alone in the dark of her room.

"Why would you do that? " she whispered, not having the strength to scream, like she really would have liked to.

"To talk to him" Lorelai said, her voice slightly more determined.

"About what?" she sighed.

"About you" her mother replied and she closed her eyes sighing again, the quiet static of the phone line weighing on the conversation.

"He thinks that I had something to do with you two not working out" Lorelai broke the silence, her voice slightly hurt and worried.

"That's crazy" Rory sighed again, suddenly feeling very tired.

"I don't know Rory, is it?" she heard her mother ask, her voice more lively, but still as hurt "Why did you say no to him? Why did you say no to Logan?" she went on, her frantic questions all hanging in the air.

"What?" she sat up, trying to follow her train of thoughts "What does Logan have to do with this?"

"He proposed and you said no" her mother replied bluntly.

"That was different, mom, I was 22, I just finished college and he was giving me an ultimatum" she reasoned.

"Tristan wasn't" came Lorelai's quiet, yet powerful reply.

"Yes, but..." she scoffed, not knowing how the conversation took such an absurd turn.

"Did you think I wouldn't have been happy if you would have married him?" Lorelai cut her off.

"What?" she asked incredulous "Mom, I... no, I don't choose my boyfriends thinking about whether you would like them or not"

"Yeah, but a husband is different, a husband is forever" her mother replied, then paused "For most people" she added, slightly ashamed.

"I don't know what you are trying to say here" Rory shook her head, trying to clear her head, as if this whole conversation was just a bad dream.

"Did you think I didn't like him?" her mother asked, her voice suddenly small.

"You never did much, mom" Rory admitted.

"But I would have made an effort if you were to say this is the man I am going to spend the rest of my life with" she cut her off, her voice desperate.

"Mom, that's not why I left him, okay? " she reassured her.

"Then why did you?" came her question.

"I don't know, I... I don't know. It was just too much... too soon" she tried to reason.

"You were together for three years" Lorelai pointed out.

"He was not ready for a committed relationship..." Rory continued.

"He asked you to marry him, that's the most committed you can get" her mother contradicted.

"I don't know! Okay? I don't know" she shot back, suddenly defensive "Maybe I got scared, maybe I realized I wanted out, that I wanted my freedom"

"Like with Logan?" came Lorelai's confused question.

"God, why are you always comparing the two?" she groaned.

"I am not, I am trying to understand" she replied, stressing the words to make her point.

"I... no, that was different." she groaned again, frustrated.

"Yeah, you didn't get depressed for months and you didn't go back to him time after time" Lorelai said.

"What are you saying?" Rory asked, her voice defensive.

"I am not saying anything I am asking questions" came her mother's reply, her voice worried.

"Well stop, I am tired of this conversation" Rory replied with finality.

She heard her mother sigh.

"Rory, baby, I am just trying to help" she pleaded.

"Well don't, mom" she sighed "you can't just go there and fix it for me, okay? I don't even know what needs to be fixed. I don't even know if I want it fixed"

"Okay" she heard her mother's quiet reply.

xxxxxxxxx

"What are you doing Lorelai?" Luke asked as he eyed his wife cautiously.

She was sitting on their bed, her face determined as she stared into the distance.

"Lorelai?" he tried again, trying to get her attention.

"What? Nothing, just thinking" she replied nonchalantly.

"No, I don't buy that" he said, sitting down next to her "You've got that look"

"What look?" she asked, trying to play it cool.

"When you are planing something elaborate" he said raising an eyebrow.

"I am not planing anything" she said looking away, trying to escape his accusing stare.

"Okay, I am planing something, are you happy?" she finally caved, sighing dramatically.

"Something tells me I am not going to be once I know what you're thinking about" he sighed.

"I am going to have them make up" she said triumphantly.

"What?" he said confused "Who?"

"Rory and Tristan" she replied.

"I don't know Lorelai, is that a good idea?" he asked, his face worried.

"They are miserable without each other" she replied.

"From what I heard he was pretty set on not seeing her again. And she left him, if I remember correctly"

"Nonsense" she brushed his worries aside "I just have to get them in a room... like an intervention... like really force them to stay there together.. with no way out... I have to plan it"

"Lorelai" he said and his voice made her stop and look at him.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, his eyes narrowing, trying to figure out what was running through her head.

She dropped her gaze nervously.

"She is my daughter, I want her to be happy" she said, her voice defensive.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that he told you he thought this was all your fault, would it? he asked, eyeing her.

She sighed again, frustrated.

"He got that in his head, but all that won't matter if they make up" she replied.

"Are you sure this is what's gonna make her happy?" Luke asked.

"I don't know... but it's worth one more try" she sighed.

He took a deep breath, his worries not subsiding.

"I don't know, I have a bad feeling about this" he said.

"When do you not have a bad feeling about anything?" she asked, rolling her eyes, trying to lighten the mood as she climbed into his arms, kissing him sweetly.


	6. Now comes the night

He concentrated on a paragraph in the dimly lit office when the sudden ring of his cell shook him from his trance.

He picked up the phone absent minded, not taking his eyes off of the contract in front of him.

"Hello?" he asked confused, not having checked the caller id.

"Tristan?" he heard a shaken voice and recognized it instantly as Lorelai's. His heart nearly stopped beating in his chest as he heard her voice, small and close to breaking.

"Lorelai, what's wrong?" he asked worried, his body instantly on alert as he listened to the phone, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

"Tristan, I... don't know what to do.. she ... she was in an accident..." he heard her mumble the words frantically.

"Wow, slow down, Lor, I can't understand anything. What happened?" he asked, trying to stay calm despite the weary feeling in his chest.

"It's Rory, she was in an accident" he heard her reply and he felt a rush of adrenaline in the pit of his stomach, his heart beginning to race even faster. There was a brief moment of silence, the static of the phone line deafening in his ear as he replayed the words in his head.

"Is she okay? Is she in the hospital?" he managed to ask, his voice shaking.

"She's okay, they said she was lucky, all she had was a broken foot, but she was hysterical and crying and I was so scared..." came the rambling reply.

He let out a deep breath he didn't know he was holding, hearing that she was okay.

"They just gave her a cast and a bunch of painkillers and said she could go home... They just discharged her" Lorelai went on, her voice not calming "I don't understand, why would they just send her home like this?" she asked, her voice close to hysterical.

"Lor, calm down. They probably checked everything out at the ER and thought she was better off resting at home" he said, more to calm himself than her.

"Tristan, she kept crying" Lorelai whispered, nearly in tears.

He closed his eyes, his heart breaking, imagining her in pain and shock.

"She is probably in shock, it must have been awful for her" he replied.

"She is drowsy from all the stuff they gave her... but she keeps calling your name" Lorelai replied "Please, you gotta come here, I don't know what to do. Luke is away for the weekend and I am so scared for her and..." she whined, her voice faltering.

"Okay, okay, calm down, everything's going to be fine. I am on my way, don't worry, okay?" he said, taking deep breaths as he looked around trying frantically to locate his coat in the office.

"Okay, okay" he heard her reply, her voice slightly calmer.

He hung up the phone as he rushed out of his office, racing towards the elevator.

xxxxxxx

He pulled up at the Gilmore house as the rain hit his windshield heavily, the downpour making it nearly impossible for him to spot the well known porch. He jumped out of his car, rushing through the front yard, the rain draining him even though he only spent seconds in the raging storm. He pounded on the door and waited for an answer, his breathing laboured, and he noticed amids the rush of thoughts and anxiety that the house was dark, eerily calm despite of what had happened.

The door opened and he walked in instantly, as Lorelai moved to the side of the dark entryway to let him pass.

"How is she?" he asked taking off his soaked coat realizing his voice was louder as he intended, as his words echoed off of the warm walls of that house.

Lorelai took the coat from him as she cleared her throat slightly gathering her words.

"She's... okay... better... she's in her room" she mumbled not looking into his eyes.

"You okay?" he stopped for a second, his eyes straining to read her face in the darkness.

She looked back at him, her eyes filling with concern suddenly. He watched the blue of those eyes, so familiar and complex and he felt a pang in his chest like he always did when he encountered this particular shade, part of the Gilmore heritage.

"Yeah... I'm... just go to her" she said, pushing him gently inside the house that was so quiet it made it hard for him to breathe.

He moved towards her room, as if in a haze, his senses not quiet on full alert, the familiarity of that house enveloping him like a thick blanket and he stopped abruptly as he saw Luke in the kitchen, with his son in his hands.

"Luke" he said slightly confused "I thought you were away"

Luke looked at him, his eyes meeting his, his face grim and his eyes weary.

"I had nothing to do with this, you should know" he mumbled and Tristan just stared at him confused not understanding his apologies.

"Go inside" he was pulled back from his thoughts by Lorelai, her voice impatient, and a scolding look on her face that was directed at her husband.

Tristan looked from one to the other, not understanding, as all the emotions, fear and worry and confusion buzzed in his head. He suddenly had the feeling like he was in a surreal dream, unable to grasp the reason why he felt uneasy by the second.

He stared at Luke as Lorelai opened the door to Rory's room and gently pushed him through, then he turned around trying to see in the pitch black room.

He walked towards her bed, seeing her sleeping form on it as his brain barely registered the sound of the lock turning, his heart once again beating wildly as he neared her bed, his mouth whispering her name quietly.

He saw her stir and move towards him, the blue of her eyes, that blue, shining in the room despite the darkness.

"Tristan?" he heard her confused voice and saw her sit up straight in her bed, strangely awake and steady.

He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and he turned back slightly, his eyes fixed on the closed door.

"What are you doing here?" came her voice, still a bit drowsy, but very aware.

"I.." he started, still eying the closed door, a definite worry arising in his chest as he slowly started to fear the truth "your mom called... because of an accident" he went on cautiously.

"Accident?" she asked shocked and flicked the lamp on standing on her nightstand.

Light flooded the room and he could see her sitting on her bed, her eyes sleepy, but her body otherwise sound.

He sighed, realization dawning.

"I can't believe this" he said, walking towards the door, his hand reaching for the doorknob, which he found locked, to no surprise.

"What's going on?" Rory asked, getting off of her bed, her voice more steady as she seemed to now be fully awake.

"Lorelai, open the door" he shouted, his whole body tensing ignoring her questioning.

He heard no answer, but he could make out Lorelai's hushed tones as he heard something heavy being pushed against the door.

"Lorelai, open the damn door" he repeated, his anger apparent, his fists pounding on the door in frustration to stress his point.

"Would someone tell me what's going on" Rory demanded, but was left without an answer, as Tristan continued to ignore her.

"Lorelai, you either open this door or I am gonna break it down" Tristan shouted.

"I moved a kitchen cabinet against it, there is no way you can break it down" came the woman's determined voice from across the door and Tristan's eyes went wide.

"You are insane!" he shot "and I definitely know that's something she can't do on her own, Luke" he added, his voice aggravated.

He turned around suddenly, as a still shocked Rory jumped out of his way.

"And don't bother trying the window either" they heard Lorelai's voice and Tristan stopped abruptly, turning back listening to the rest of her warning.

"I broke the lock and there is barbed wire outside" she added.

"What?!" Rory exclaimed and Tristan groaned in frustration.

"What the hell is going on here?" Rory tried once again and she gasped as she saw Tristan turn around, his face distorted with anger.

"Your mother is crazy, raving mad, that's what's going on" he shot "she called me saying you were in an accident and home totally out of it and when I got here, she pushed me in here!"

Rory's eyes went wide and she turned to the door walking up to it, resuming the pounding that Tristan abandoned a couple of seconds ago.

"Mother" she yelled "open this door this instant!"

"Okay, you two obviously have some things to sort out and we are not leaving here until you do" came Lorelai's reasoning.

"Mom, you are crazy, please, just stop this" Rory pleaded, her fists going numb from all the pounding.

She stopped to listen to Lorelai's answer, but she heard nothing, the silence filling the room.

"Mom?" she asked, her voice uncertain as she waited for an answer, but there was none and she rested her head against the door sighing.

She suddenly remembered Tristan and turned around to look at him with caution.

He was standing in the middle of her small room, one hand on his hip and the other covering his eyes in exasperation. He sighed and looked up at her, their eyes locking.

She watched him, suddenly looking exhausted, his hair still wet and dripping, his muscles tensed and his breathing labored.

"I'm sorry" she whispered "I didn't know about this" she tried to explain, but his accusing stare stopped her.

He suddenly had and idea and reached to his pockets, checking all of them.

"Fuck" he cursed "my cell is in my coat" he murmured barely audible.

He started pacing up and down the room.

"I can't fucking believe this" he murmured as he looked around, like a caged animal desperately looking for a way out.

She walked back to her bed and sat down, watching him cautiously.

"I don't know what got into her" she tried again, her voice quiet.

"I know what got into her" he sighed, stopping in the middle of the room "she is trying to make up for her actions" he said and resumed walking.

Rory furrowed her brows, not understanding.

"She is trying to prove that she never tried to control your decisions or steer you to do what she wants" he murmured "by doing exactly that" he added with a wry chuckle "this woman is fucking insane" he mumbled as he continued pacing.

"Why would she think that?" she asked, her voice uneasy, trying to involve herself in his seemingly one sided conversation.

"Because it's the truth?" he scoffed, letting out another wry chuckle.

"What did you tell her when she was in New York?" Rory suddenly asked, her voice worried, an uneasy feeling taking a hold of her.

"I told her what I thought about all this crap" he mumbled, not really answering her, but rather just letting out his frustration, still not agreeing to having an actual conversation with her.

"What?" she pushed.

He stopped frustrated to finally look at her.

"I told her that she was unconsciously pushing you to make decisions that will ultimately make you unhappy" he said, his voice slightly calmer, but cold.

"What?" she asked incredulous "that's crazy" she added.

"Right" he scoffed and once again tore his eyes away from her.

"Why did you say that?" she asked standing up from the bed.

"Because it's the fucking truth, Rory" he shouted and she was startled by his sudden outburst.

"Wow, Tristan, you really think that I can be controlled like that? That I don't have a will of my own?" she shot back.

"That's the only example you ever saw when you were growing up. Men were something that you could toy with and go back and forth to, break them and then crawl back into their arms, without any consequences..."

"That is not true" she broke him off, her voice emotional as she felt her anger boil inside of her.

"Yes it is!" he shot back, once again staring her down "You just can't see it, but it is!"

"My mother had a tough life..." she said, her voice faltering from all the emotions.

"She made it tough herself, Rory, she had men falling all over themselves just to be with her..." he broke her off.

"This is ridiculous" she yelled incredulous "you are insane!"

"Alright" he mumbled turning away from her, giving up trying to make her see.

"You are hurt, I can understand that, but that is no reason to lash out on my mother" she went on.

"Whatever Rory" he brushed her off.

"Don't whatever me" her voice raised again and Tristan sighed exhausted, closing his eyes.

"I don't want to fight anymore" he said, his voice under control "I just want this to end" he said and Rory felt a pang of pain in her chest as she watched his face, exhausted and frustrated.

"You know, you keep saying that, and then you have the nerves to tell my mother it was all her fault" she said, her voice small but accusing at the same time.

Tristan froze and looked at her, his eyes a piercing blue, a stare that chilled her to the bone.

"Excuse me?" he asked, his voice faltering with restrain.

Her mouth went dry seeing the restrained anger in his posture, his face. She swallowed, not having the guts to repeat herself.

"Are you implying that this is my fault?" he asked, taking a step forward, his finger pointing to his chest.

She took a deep breath, her eyes looking away from his, not quite sure of her argument.

"Are you" he repeated, his words slow and filled with shock "telling me that this is my fault?"

"You gave up!" she shot, her anger finally coming out.

Tristan looked at her with pure shock on his face.

"You have got to be kidding me" he said, staring at her "I have fought for you for months, Rory!"

"Well I fought for you for years!" she shot back, her voice accusing.

His face faltered for a second, shock and hurt and guilt all flashing in his eyes in a matter of seconds.

"I fought and waited and was there for you, when you were messed up, when you weren't able to open up or trust anyone" she went on, her voice trembling as the emotions took over.

"That was different" he whispered, his eyes swirling with emotions.

"Why?" she asked "Because it was you, not me?"

"Because I had a fucking reason Rory" he spat "I was sent away and left to look after myself. I have been on my own and without guidance since I was 16, Rory, forgive me if I had a hard time opening up and letting someone in" he went on, his tone cynical.

"Yes, that is a legitimate reason. And I did figure it out eventually" she replied, her voice now calm, reflecting hurt "You see there's always a reason, Tristan" she said, her face in a wry smile "the question is if the other person is willing to stick around long enough for it to be uncovered..."

He looked at her in shock, suddenly speechless.

"Don't make this into something else Rory" he shook his head bewildered "You had a thousand chances. I would have been there for you!" he shot.

She looked away, taking a deep breath, knowing he was right.

"You never gave me the chance. You decided to flee instead" he said, his voice barely above a whisper now.

She collapsed back onto her bed, suddenly feeling tired.

He sighed, seeing there wouldn't be any resolve.

He turned towards the window, staring out into the darkness, the steady murmur of the storm filling the quiet room.

"They offered me Brussels" she said quietly and he sighed confused at the seemingly sudden switch of topic.

He turned around, leaning against the window sill, to look at her.

"Congratulations" he said, his tone indifferent, his face reflecting exhaustion "Danny didn't handle the job?" he asked trying to act civil as he asked about the job, remembering that it was her colleague, Danny, who got the position of foreign corresponding reporter in Brussels at the beginning of the year.

She shook her head, furrowing her brows as she turned to him.

"No, that's not what I meant" she said, and her voice seemed small, secretive. He noticed how she was whispering, almost as if she were afraid the walls would hear her.

"They offered me the job first, last January" she stated and the revelation hanged in the quiet of the room.

He narrowed his eyes, studying her not quite understanding.

"I don't understand" he whispered, sincerely.

She sighed, closing her eyes, as if all this took a great deal of effort.

"They offered me the job and I turned it down. So they gave it to Danny" she explained, her words drawn out, as if she were explaining it to a child.

He looked at her shocked.

"Why didn't you tell me this?" he asked, suddenly feeling left out "You told me they offered Danny the job, that you didn't get it" he went on, his voice rising.

She didn't answer, staring at a spot on the bed instead.

"You turned it down, without even telling me? Why? You wanted that job, you worked for it for years" he said, his voice mirroring confusion and hurt.

"I..." she started, her voice becoming even more quiet, so that he had to concentrate on every word to make out what she was saying.

"I got the offer and I thought...I couldn't take that job... because... I didn't want to leave" she dragged out the words.

He stared at her, holding his breath as if the slightest noise would stop her talking.

"I thought about it for days and I realized that it... it was a dream that I chased for years but... that it might not be my dream anymore..." she tried to explain, carefully choosing her words.

"You stayed because of me?" he cut her off, his voice filled with amazement and fear.

She closed her eyes, sighing.

"I... didn't want it to be that reason" she finally said.

He narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"That's why I didn't tell you... I didn't want you to be the reason for me turning that job down, so that I... wouldn't hate you for turning it down" she said, struggling with the words.

His chest hurt with a strange kind of pain as she spoke and he watched her with a frown, things suddenly becoming more clear.

"I thought I would go on with life and not think of this, I thought that I could forget this and not feel like I was the girl who gave up her career for the life she didn't want to lose..." she continued, her words becoming fast, frantic almost as he looked away, not able to watch her anymore.

"And I wished that I wouldn't blame you for it, but..." she sighed, her voice faltering as tears welled up in her eyes.

"But you did" he finished her sentence looking back at her.

She looked up at him, her blue eyes full of hurt and sorrow and they stared at each other, as if seeing each other for the first time after a long time.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he whispered, fighting back the tears, suddenly feeling cheated remembering the beginning of the year, when he still thought they were good, that everything was fine.

"I'm sorry" she replied, her eyes closing as the tears spilled out.

"I wanted to be stronger than that" she said, as if trying for the last time to explain herself, but her words were weak, hanging in the air like dancing leaves.

"I thought that this is what I wanted. That I would be happy with having chosen this... But it just all got so complicated... I didn't know what I wanted or who I was anymore" she rambled, her words rushed and quiet.

"Why didn't you tell me any of this?" he asked, his tone suddenly calm, a slight bit of hurt echoing in it.

Rory looked up to see him stare at a spot on the ground, his face confused, his hands once again resting on his hips like when he was concentrating really hard.

She thought about his question for a minute. Why hadn't she told him? She couldn't really say. All she knew at that confused and lonely time was that she had lost her goals and the only thing she had left was him. She never wanted to be that person. One defined by another. That's not what her mother raised her to be. And perhaps after all, it was her mother that influenced her to make the choices she did, just not quite the way he thought.

"You asked me to marry you" she started, not quite an answer to his question, but something she needed to say nevertheless.

She saw him tense at the memory, his jaw clenching slightly. She faltered for a second, but then went on.

"...And I was so happy in that moment, I felt so weightless, I thought I could..., that this would make me forget all that I was questioning" she tried to explain desperately.

"But I woke up the next day and felt like I was lying to myself. That I was lying to you. And that I couldn't marry you hoping it would fix my life. I couldn't be with you hoping I wouldn't hate you for the things I've given up on" she said, finishing her monologue, the words hanging heavy in the ear.

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, as if his body had just realized the burden it was carrying. He walked to the other side of the bed, sitting down on it, his back to hers, perhaps trying to forget she was there for a second, perhaps to gain strength.

The silence settled in on them as they sat on the small bed in her childhood room, surrounded by shelves of books and herds of stuffed animals and the sounds of the raging storm outside.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What do you think they're doing?" she whispered, even though they were a full level above them, sitting in their own bedroom.

Lorelai held her breath as if she could telepathically hear the conversation or lack thereof from down below.

"Killing each other?" Luke growled in reply as he turned to his other side on their bed trying to ignore her and fall asleep.

"They are not killing each other, okay?" she scolded.

She leaned back on their bed settling in next to him.

There was a minute of silence, before she spoke again, her voice in the characteristic feverish speculating tone.

"This is good, right? They are finally given a chance to talk" she mumbled, ignoring the startled grunt from Luke who managed to doze off to sleep in the moments of silence "I mean he seems to think that I am some evil witch of the west or whatever, trying to influence her to make decisions, but come on now, she is a grown woman, I have not fiddled in her personal life for years" she finished, laughing, hoping to lighten the mood with a joke.

The answer was only a grunt and she turned to him, frustrated.

"Luke, will you say something?" she huffed.

"I think I've said what I thought" he shot back and she rolled her eyes.

"The only reason you ever got me to participate in this is because you were threatening to invite your parents over for Friday night dinners from now on, instead of you going there" he stated.

"Well, I had no other choice, okay?" she said dramatically.

"You mean other than, leaving it be?" he shot back, his words cynical.

"Well what if we were never given the second chance, have you thought about that?" she asked him, her eyes beaming blue.

He sighed as he turned to look at her, his hand unconsciously going to caress her hair lightly.

"Lorelai, nobody locked us in a room. That's not how we got our second chance. Which is a pretty lucky thing, cause I probably would have killed you" he said, releasing a small chuckle.

She gasped, her face in mock shock, then sighed, giving up her argument.

Luke's face softened watching her exasperation.

"Look, there is nothing to do now. Let's see how this turns out, there is no point being up here and obsessing about this" he tried to calm her.

She sighed again.

"You're right" she said, her posture slumping in defeat for a second "I should go down there and eavesdrop" she said, already halfway out the door.

He laid back on the bed, sighing in frustration.

xxxxxxxxxxx

They laid on her small bed, as far apart as it was humanly possible without falling off of it, both of them quiet and staring at the ceiling in the dark room. Their bodies careful not to touch, they rested motionless on the bed, listening to the calming storm outside.

She sneaked a peak in his direction watching him lay there with his arms folded under his head, his blue eyes focused dedicatedly on the ceiling.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked timidly, her words barely audible, as if she were testing the waters.

He sighed, as if not wanting to answer and she didn't push, focusing back on the ceiling again.

"How we got to this point" he finally answered, his tone calm.

She let out a shaky breath, feeling like a child waiting to be scolded.

"I can't grasp is Rory" he whispered, the words reaching her ears in a rush as she held her breath to be able to decipher them in the dark room.

"One moment I had everything... perfection... calmness... trust... everything I never thought I'd be able to have" he went on "and the next minute it's all gone and I am struggling to understand why... and now you're telling me that it wasn't even true back when I thought everything was fine... that you were hiding things and not able to talk to me about this"

His rant finished and she laid there in silence, not able to deny the charges or comfort him, her guilt firing up her skin as she closed her eyes.

She could feel his closeness, the warmth of his skin radiating, making the hair stand up on the back of her neck, and she could feel the heaviness, the heaviness she thought would ease if she finally got out all these reasons all these thoughts that have been weighing down on her for so long.

"Wasn't I good enough?" she suddenly heard him ask and she turned to look at him, not quite believing she heard him right. He was staring at the ceiling, his face in a slight frown, as if his question had not really even been directed at her.

"This isn't your fault Tristan" she whispered, desperate to make hi feel better "it's mine".

He sighed, closing his eyes, perhaps not wanting to hear her words.

He opened his eyes again, his features calming, a wry smile playing on his face.

"It doesn't really matter, does it?" he murmured and the words rang oddly true to her. She turned back to stare at her own designated spot on the ceiling as his words rang in her ears.

He was right. At the point they were at now, it hardly seemed to matter how they got there.

xxxxxxxxxxx

She listened, holding her breath at the door having just pushed the kitchen cabinet far enough so the door frame would be freed.

It was morning, still quiet but light enough, despite the clouds that still covered the small town. She thought of the storm last night and wondered if this fall would be one continuous storm, never resulting in the clear skies that one welcomes after a true and raging, all-cleansing storm.

She took a deep breath and gently turned the lock, opening the door and half expecting a battlefield instead of her daughter's tidy room.

But what she saw was pretty peaceful. Nothing seemed to be broken or turned upside down. Her eyes traveled through the room and finally came to rest on an icy pair of blue eyes looking back at her. Tristan lay on the bed wide awake, propped up slightly on a pillow, his bloodshot eyes a good indication that he had not slept a wink all night long. On his chest rested Rory's head as she lay fast asleep. His arm circled her upper body loosely, a gesture of quiet restrain but also of intimacy.

Lorelai watched the scene in front of her, her eyes still locked on his, tired and accusing.

He sighed and moved quietly, careful not to wake Rory as he slipped out from beneath her, rearranging her limbs and placing her head gently on a pillow without disturbing her peaceful sleep. He rose from the bed and covered her with the blanket that lay over both of them before.

As he finished the task, he moved silently towards the door, not stopping to give Lorelai a chance to protest. She watched helplessly and in despair, her eyes mirroring guilt and sorrow as he walked past her, not even looking at her, leaving though the partially blocked doorway.

Lorelai sighed as she was left alone in the doorway, watching a lonely Rory sleep peacefully.


	7. Thank you consequence

She dragged herself up the stairs, her coat soaked and her body chilled to the bone. She didn't mind the storm outside, or the rain really, it's the cold she had a hard time with. The rain was fine. It cleared the city, the rest of the people just a blur of rushing figures, while she could walk the streets without concern. The rain greeted her, bathed her and covered her, soaking her evenly, coating her skin in an invisible sheet of protective armor that she could call her own.

Now inside the damp stairway, the water turned to mist, to humidity, fleeting her skin and making her feel uncomfortable, as the soaked clothes clung to her body while she climbed the stairs.

Her cell rang and she sighed, stopping in a corner, somehow not having the strength to do two things at once.

She looked at the caller i.d. and sighed flipping the phone open and lifting it to her ear.

"Hi" she said bracing herself for the conversation.

"Hey" came her mother's voice and she noted with irony that it was as apologetic as a greeting could possibly sound.

She closed her eyes, listening to her mother contemplate in silence what her next words should be.

"So the new Julia Roberts movie is crap" was the result and she smiled to herself.

"Is it?" she played along, her voice slightly exhausted.

"Yeah, I mean, she is getting old and back in the day that mouth was cute, but with age it just gets scary" she rambled, obviously trying to compensate for feeling guilty.

"Hmmm" she hummed in reply.

"Okay, stop it. Enough with the guilt trip" her mother snapped.

She laughed silently.

"So it was a mistake. I am sorry, I just wanted to help" Lorelai defended herself, her voice animated.

"Alright" Rory whispered as she ran her hand through her hair.

She couldn't really say if it was to finally move past the subject or if she really was alright with it all. It was hard to say.

Waking up that morning, in her bed alone, felt like a revelation. And a relief. It was like waking up after a night of crying yourself to sleep. With the problems haunting you not really gone, but the anxiety of it all somehow released.

"Have you heard from him?" she heard her mother ask and it pulled her back from her thoughts.

She didn't answer her. She hadn't. Heard from him. It's been 5 days.

There was not much to say about all that. But more importantly, she was done talking about this with Lorelai.

"How did she get so thin anyway after having twins?" she asked, using one of her mother's excellent techniques to change the subject and she heard her sigh at the end of the line.

"She isn't. It's CGI" Lorelai replied without missing a beat and perhaps giving up trying to have a conversation about things actually and truly weighing in on their minds. They were Gilmore girls after all.

There was a short pause on the end of the line.

"You know if you want to..." she heard her mother try one last time, but Rory felt an undeniable urge to cut her off.

"I don't" she said in finality and listened to her mother sigh at the other end of the line.

"Alright..." she said "Her hair is also laughable" she went on, seamlessly returning to their banter.

"Probably a wig" Rory replied.

"Seriously, I would be so much better at being a movie star" Lorelai went on.

"You couldn't recite the lines if your life depended on it" Rory sighed, looking up at the still long flight of stairs ahead of her.

"I would improvise! People would love that" Lorelai retorted.

"I doubt people would pay to see some crazy woman rant about poodles and fanny packs" Rory replied, her tone slightly cynical.

"Hey!" her mother scolded "you didn't complain for 26 years!"

"I'm hanging up now, mother" Rory chuckled.

"I am not finished! I have points to make about her hip size and mine!" she heard her mother go on, but she ignored it.

"Bye, mom" she laughed flipping her phone shut, cutting her mother off mid-sentence.

She sighed as she started back on the dreaded stairs.

She took only a couple of steps up as her phone ringed again.

She scoffed not bothering to stop anymore, lifting her phone to her ear without checking the caller i.d.

"Yes, I am sure your hips are far better proportioned and sway more nicely" she sighed dramatically.

There was a heavy pause at the other end of the line and she stopped her climb up the stairs once again, her heart speeding up as a strange feeling rose in her chest.

"I... uh... was always proud of my hips" she heard Tristan say as she cringed, his voice slightly taken aback.

"Oh" she managed, her cheeks flushing "I thought it was my mom calling" she explained, her words frantic as she gestured wildly with her free hand.

"No kidding" Tristan deadpanned.

She cursed silently.

"Sorry" she mumbled, not knowing what to say.

There was another heavy pause on the other end of the line and she listened holding her breath, her heart beating in her throat.

"I was uh... wondering if you'd like some coffee" he finally said and she could practically picture him squeezing his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose, his sentence coming out rushed but seemingly calm.

She let out the air she was holding as silently as possible.

"Coffee is good" she lamely replied.

"Wow, that's shocker coming from you" he chuckled and she cringed again realizing how lame that really did sound coming from her.

"Anyway..." he went on "I'll be done at the office in an hour or so... you could meet me at the coffee shop..." he paused "if you're not busy, that is" he added slightly uncomfortable.

Rory listened in silence in the dark stairway, thoughts rushing in her head about their talk in her bedroom, about their last couple of encounters, about how it used to feel meeting him at the coffee shop at the bottom of his office building every night after work. And about how weird but still comforting it felt to be talking to him in a civil way again.

"But if you don't want..." he started and she realized how her silence must have sounded to him.

"No, no" she cut him off "I'll be there. Let me just change, I am soaked"

"Yeah, it's coming down pretty hard out there, huh?" he replied, without a trace of relief.

"Yeah" she confirmed and she wondered for a second, where years of college education went when it came to her ability to use a decent vocabulary.

"I'll see you there then" he said hanging up without waiting for her reply.

She listened to the beep of the phone as it went dead and sighed suddenly feeling anxious and excited at the same time.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She excited the subway noting with annoyance that it was still raining cats and dogs. She looked around carefully before crossing the street, her steps speeding up, eager to get out of the rain.

She spotted him sitting at a table by a window inside the café concentrating on the paper folded out in front of him as he sipped a cup of coffee.

She stopped for a second, suddenly forgetting about the rain, watching his calm face and messed up locks, his shirt clinging to his body as his business suit lay folded across the chair next to him.

He looked up, perhaps feeling her eyes on him, and held her gaze for a long second and she felt a rush of blood surging through her body. His eyes icy blue and searching, seemed to take her back to a different time, back where everything seemed more certain and less confusing.

He motioned for her to come in and she blushed realizing how silly it must have looked as she stood out there on the pavement, letting the rain once again soak her to the bone.

She walked around to the entrance and shook the water off, taking her coat off as she walked towards his table.

"Hey" she said and watched as he got up from his seat, making the whole scene slightly more formal and less comfortable.

"Hey" he returned her greeting and took her coat from her busying himself with folding it across the designated wardrobe chair as she sat down from across from him.

"You've been here long?" she asked sitting down and studying the menu as a distraction, not entirely trusting herself with looking into his eyes again.

"No, not long" he replied, his tone amused and she looked up to see the reason. He was smirking as he watched her hold the menu in her hand.

"They don't really have a new line-up" he quietly remarked and she placed the menu back on the table blushing, once again feeling like a stupid schoolgirl for the silly things she managed to do when it came to talking to him. Of course she knew that menu by heart. He knew she knew.

A waiter approached them with her not even yet placed order and she looked on surprised as she was presented her usual order.

"I ordered for you" he explained and she smiled uncomfortably.

"Thanks" she whispered as she lifted the cup to her mouth, gulping hungrily and wincing as the hot liquid burned her mouth.

She placed the cup back on the table and sighed trying to calm herself.

She looked up an noticed thankfully that Tristan didn't see her last embarrassing deed because he was rearranging the contents of the table absent minded.

The fact that he seemed to build quite a wall from the sugar bowl and the napkin holder didn't go unnoticed by her.

"How have you been?" he asked finally looking up to meet her eyes.

"I've been fine" she replied uneasily "what about you?"

"Fine" he replied and they settled into another uncomfortable silence.

She watched as he rubbed his chin with is hand, slightly furrowing his brows, a gesture of contemplation, she knew.

"I'm sorry about my mother..."

"About last weekend..." he started but stopped hearing her starting to talk at the same time.

She chuckled nervously and he sighed smiling slightly, once again dropping his gaze.

"She was out of line" she added quietly.

"She's Lorelai. Out of line is her middle name" Tristan replied and he leaned forward on the table, resting his face on a propped up elbow.

She smirked silently, admitting he was right.

"I didn't mind that we talked" he said suddenly, his voice low and quiet and she looked up surprised, seeing him once again avoiding her gaze.

Her heartbeat sped up.

"I wish we would have talked sooner" he added and she felt a weight on her chest as she dropped her own gaze, her hands folded in her lap.

It felt like an accusation, his sentence, and she realized that she had no right to protest.

"I wish I could have helped you out" he went on and she looked up, once again surprised, seeing his eyes serious and boring into hers.

Her breathing caught in her chest, seeing the sincerity in them.

She furrowed her brows slightly, not quite understanding where he was going with this, her chest rising and falling more rapidly as the emotions started to take over.

"I wish I could have been there for you..." he went on "I wish you would have trusted me to be able to be there for you..." he paraphrased.

"Stop accusing me" she snapped and the mood suddenly chilled as she looked at him, her eyes warning.

His face faltered for a second and he took a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself.

"I am not" he said firmly.

Her hand went up to her face as she rubbed her eyes, suddenly feeling tired.

"I'm just trying to understand" he said, his voice just a murmur, hurt echoing through it.

"I'm sorry" she groaned, feeling guilty for having been impatient.

Another long silence followed and she caressed her coffee cup to distract herself.

She heard him sigh.

"How is work?" he asked and she could tell how hard he was trying.

She looked up at him, the question weighing in on her. She really didn't want to answer that, she really didn't even want to think about it.

"It's alright" she replied blankly.

"I thought you liked it" he probed, taking a sip from his own cup and she looked up at him surprised.

"I did..." she replied uneasily "I do... It's just..." her words faltered. It was hard to voice how she felt about work.

Starting out it was a wonderful opportunity, everything she'd ever worked for, everything she wanted. After all, she'd been doing this for years. Ever since Chilton, ever since Yale. It was in her blood, it was in her skin, journalism, it was something that moved her, motivated her and energized her for as long as she remembered. But the will to win, to succeed seemed at times stronger than the actual desire to be there. After a point she just couldn't distinguish anymore. Was this something she really wanted? Something she couldn't live without? Or was it something that she became good at, over time, something that she knew the ins and outs of, something that she could feel certain she would be good at, just because she'd done it as long as she could remember.

She'd had doubts. She knew that. She couldn't say for certain how long she'd had them, but she definitely did. They were guilty thoughts, shameful doubts, possibilities in her head that this is something she thought made her happy, when in reality she could be doing anything. Teaching. Wedding planing. Bartending. Anything really and it could still make her happy, if she just prove herself it was enough.

And that was the weirdest thought. Knowing this was expected of her, because she'd been telling everyone for as long as she could remember that this is what she wanted to do, this is what she was good at. But they probably would have cheered her on if it was something else she'd designated all those years ago. It felt like she was living a predestined life, predestined by none other than herself.

"Hey" his gentle voice shook her from her thoughts and she looked up with unfocused eyes, seeing his confused and slightly worried expression.

She smiled uneasily.

"You okay?" he asked, placing his cup back on the table and not leaning back into his seat, resting instead closer to her than during any time in their conversation.

"Yeah" she managed, though her voice suddenly seemed small and fragile.

"How long?" he asked and his words were so small, careful, it hardly registered in her brain.

She looked up with a questioning expression, trying to govern the haze that was suddenly settling over her eyes.

"How long have you had doubts about work?" he asked again and she felt a pang in her chest realizing he'd suddenly eased back into his habit of reading her thoughts.

She shrugged, not able to deny the allegations and a single tear escaped her eye.

"Ahh" she gritted her teeth, trying to stop herself from crying as she looked up, blinking wildly.

He waited patiently, watching her with concern.

"For a while, I guess" she scoffed, then instantly furrowed her eyes "It's silly" she stated, her voice becoming more sure.

He didn't comment, but waited for her to go on.

"I wanted this for so long and I am good at it, so I don't know why it doesn't motivate me more" she said, her voice a bit frantic.

"I mean, it just feels like I am doing it on auto-pilot, without any effort. It's not something that consumes me... god, does that even make sense?" she went on with her rant and she looked up to see his face staring ahead on the table, his eyes restrained.

She suddenly felt unsure, guilty about her outburst, insecure by his lack of response.

"Sorry if I'm boring you" she murmured, perhaps too cynically because he sighed and ran his hand through his hair frustrated.

"I can"t fucking do this" he murmured as he got up from the table and dug into his pocket to throw some money on the table.

She stared up at him shocked, taken aback by his sudden change of demeanor. Her words were caught in her chest and she stared helpless as he pushed his chair back to the table and put his coat on turning to walk away.

She scoffed, not quite understanding what just happened, hurt and humiliation suddenly sweeping through her veins, turning into anger  
She got up following him as he excited the coffee shop, stepping out into the rain that only eased up a bit since they'd been sitting inside.

"What just happened?" she shot at him angrily and he stopped and turned around, frustrated. He opened his mouth, as if he were desperately trying to find the words, his face contorted with anger and frustration.

"I can't do this" he shot and turned back around, nervously pacing up and down the sidewalk, the drain slowly draining his hair and face and clothes.

She stared at him, not understanding.

"I can't just sit there and listen to your problems" he went on and the sentence shot to her heart, wounding her.

"Oh I am sorry if my petty little problems annoy you" she snapped wiping the lock of wet hair away from her forehead.

"Rory" he turned to face her, his voice so strong and angry, it made her gasp "I wanted to come here and be there for you and listen to you, but I can't just fucking sit here and pretend you didn't rip my heart out when you left" he shot.

Her breathing caught in her chest as she realized what he was saying.

"You fucking killed me okay? You stomped all over me, and fine, it was for a reason, I understand, you were confused, you were uncertain about your life and everything, but you still hurt me" he went on, his voice becoming calmer, reflecting his hurt.

She stood in the rain, suddenly feeling the coldness of the water that soaked her clothes and dripped down her face.

"I should have been able to help you and I couldn't. You didn't let me" he said, his voice straining "and I came here tonight swearing I would try, no matter what, but I can't just forget everything that's happened" he finished, his words now just a whisper.

She stood there, devastated by his words unable to formulate any of her own.

What could she say? He was right, he was right and she was stupid to think it could be any other way.

She took a deep breath, bracing herself and turned around, pulling the collar of her coat up as if it could guard her from anything more than the heavy rain.

She heard a heavy sigh as she walked determinedly towards the subway entrance.

"Rory, wait, stop" he heard him say and heard his steps trying to catch up with her.

She continued her march, more embarrassed than angry, resisting the urge to obey him.

She felt his arm land on hers, the strength he possessed easily stopping her and spinning her around.

She looked away not willing to admit that the droplets running down her face were not just raindrops.

"I'm sorry" he whispered as he tried to pull her closer "I'm an ass."

She resisted, slipping out of his reach, but he didn't give up trying, finally pulling her against him.

She felt him envelop her in a hug and she felt all resistance escape and her sobs break from her chest as the familiarity of his hold took over her emotions. He rocked her gently, caressing her hair and back and kissing her head gently as he repeatedly whispered his apology.

"I'm sorry, it's just so fucking hard" he murmured.

"No" she sniffed "you are right, I can't expect anything... and I understand if you want nothing to do with me, but you called and I came here thinking..." she ranted, but her words fell short as she felt him hush her.

"Let's just..." he cut her off, taking a deep breath "let's just try this again"

"Okay" she sniffed again as he eased up his hold on her, stepping away slightly, the scene once again more formal.

They stared at each other, her still trying to control her tears and him clearing his throat nervously as he placed his hands on his hips.

He took in her sight, drained to the bone and looking miserable and he sighed.

"You wanna... get some coffee?" he finally managed, chuckling lightly "or some dry clothes?"

She laughed feeling relief, wiping away the remainder of her tears.

"Coffee would be nice" she murmured.

He sighed smiling wryly and looked around, perhaps realizing going back to the coffee shop was not an option, what with their dramatic exit and all.

"Uhm... I'll walk you home and will find something on the way" he finally said.

She looked at him surprised, noting it was still raining although slightly easing up.

"O-okay" she said unsurely, not sure if he was aware that it was 8 o'clock in a rainy New York city with her apartment some twenty blocks away.

He seemed sure though as he held out his hand, taking hers in his as he started walking in the right direction, pulling her along.

She started walking after him, letting him lead her, once again, like she used to so many times when they were together and she once again admired his seeming air of confidence. The was he could lead was impressive, silencing her fears and doubts.

It helped create a finally comfortable silence around them and she realized she felt calm for the first time in a long, long while as she walked slightly behind him, their steps echoing on the surprisingly empty streets.

They were drenched by the second block, but she didn't seem to care. Suddenly she felt the protectiveness of the rain again, and the cold that seemed to bug her all day suddenly disappeared.

He stopped suddenly and she was distracted from her thoughts, furrowing her brows as she looked around. He let her hand go, fishing out his wallet from his back pocket.

"Give us two coffees?" he addressed the man looking at them strangely from the protection of his shielded coffee cart.

"Sure" he replied, happy to be getting any business in this kind of weather, handing them the steaming cups.

Rory accepted hers happily and took a sip from the hot liquid.

"Come on" she heard as she looked up, seeing Tristan smile at her satisfied expression as the coffee warmed her insides.

"It's not as good as the one back at the coffee shop..." he started, sipping his own coffee as they resumed walking on the sidewalk.

"It's crappy" she remarked with a smirk.

He looked at her with mock hurt.

"I buy you coffee and you insult it... nice" he smirked back, but taking another sip, he had to agree, tossing the cup in the trashcan on the next corner.

"We'll find something better" he said, reaching out to toss her cup as well, but she resisted, walking on.

"Coffee is coffee. Even if it's crappy" she declared, crossing the street as he stood on the corner for a second, watching her as he chuckled.

"And a Gilmore is a Gilmore" he murmured.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"So Harry actually ended up in a full body cast" he laughed "it's crazy, he came into work the next day and knocked on his chest proudly, to show it off"

"God, that must be awful" she cringed.

They were on block eighteen and the rain had stopped. She was on her third cup of crappy New York coffee and he walked next to her, with his hands in his pockets, telling her a story about his coworker who'd suffered a car accident and some mild injuries.

"He says it's not that bad and it stabilizes his spine until they decide weather he needs surgery or not" he went on, "It's crazy, the guy gets a compressed vertebra and he is in the next day, showing off his body cast."

"So can he work in it?" she asked him, still cringing at the thought of an accident.

"No" he chuckled "he can't even sit, he either lays flat on his back or stands. He says getting up, he looks like a cockroach turned on its back" he said, taking his hands out of his pockets to mimic a bug turned on its back.

She laughed wildly at his gesturing and they resumed their walking.

"He says taking a piss is a drag in the thing" he chuckled.

"I bet" she laughed.

It felt nice to be walking with him, their clothes slowly drying in the warm evening weather. They talked about random stuff, the mood being light, both of them happy to be avoiding any more heavy topics for the night. It might have been avoiding, but it felt good for a change. She couldn't remember the last time they'd talked like this, with no accusations, no fighting, no angry words of feelings of guilt.  
"You must have been worried about him" she said.

"I am worried about the accounting, I gotta get someone else to fill in for him" he replied in mock seriousness.

"Ah, the loyal friend and worrying boss" she quipped.

"I probably gotta cover medical bills too" he sighed and she laughed again enjoying the lightness she felt in her chest.

She realized he stopped and she turned around seeing him look up at the building they were standing in front of. Her building.

She hadn't even realized they'd gotten there.

He placed his hands back into his pocket and looked back at her, slightly uncomfortable.

"It was good to see you Rory" he said, his voice calm, his composure becoming more confident.

She felt a bout of panic, feeling the night and their encounter end. She wasn't sure she was ready to let it all go, worried the next time, they would have to get through the awkwardness all over again.

"You wanna come up for some..." she blurted out nervously "coffee" she finished, laughing instantly as she realized how stupid it sounded.

He smiled widely.

"Nah, I think we had enough coffee for tonight" he said smirking and she agreed, nodding silently as she looked at her shoes uneasily, distracting herself with his remark instead of obsessing about the fact that he did indeed resisted her invitation.

She looked back up at him and saw him studying her silently, his eyes intense and making her heart beat faster. Her smile faltered and she took a shaky breath, suddenly not knowing what to do with herself.

"Good night, Rory" he said quietly, his hand going up to her face to brush a strand of stray hair away from her face. The nearness of his skin made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and she held her breath, fearing it would come out too ragged if she did attempt to breathe.

"I'll see you around" he said as he backed away, a smile appearing on his face as he tucked his hands back into his pockets.

She couldn't help but smile back, despite the disappointment and rejection she was feeling as she watched him turn and check for traffic before he crossed the street to wave down a cab.

He looked back up at her one last time before getting in the car and disappearing.


	8. After the flood

It had been a week.

An exact week.

In fact, this was the very minute last Friday that he decided to dial her number and ask her if she wanted to meet for coffee.

It was raining back then and now, it was one of those beautiful autumn evenings, when the wind blows strong and the color of the setting sun sets the buildings and the clouds over the city on fire, bathing everything in an orange glow.

Then again, there was always a chance of rain. He knew that by now. It seemed to be that kind of fall this year. You had to pack your umbrella just in case.

He stared out of his office window, having finished his work hours before. He couldn't break away from the sight, enjoying as the colors changed over the city from one minute to another.

He felt his cellphone vibrate in his pocket and he sighed expecting it to be something work related, even this late in the evening.

He stared at the display for a long second as he read the name 'Mary' flash.

His heart seemed to flutter as he reread the word over and over again to be sure.

There was only one Mary in his phonebook.

There was a Mary Johnson and a Mary Miller and perhaps a Mary Wilkins too, but there was only one Mary.

He cleared his throat and turned around, resting his back against the window as he accepted the call.

"Hello?" he asked, pleased to find his voice coming out calm and confident.

He listened to the silence at the other end of the line and instantly recognized it as her angry silence. As there was several of this too.

There was her expectant silence, her reassuring one, there was the one when there was too much on her mind and everything seemed to weigh in on her, stopping her characteristic ramble.

And then there was her angry silence, the one that was like the moment of calmness before the storm hit hard and merciless.

He braced himself as he heard her take a breath.

"So you were just not going to call?" she snapped but didn't wait for an answer despite him opening his mouth to protest amused.

"We go through all this crap. All this fucking crap and you go and make me think that we are actually going to act like decent human beings and listen to each other and figure this out and then you fucking go and don't call me for a whole week?" he heard her voice, part accusing and part amused. The exact ratio that seems to be designed to let any listener wonder whether it's supposed to be humorous scolding or true indignation.

You never could tell with her.

He would have smiled, had he not been so caught off guard at the moment.

"Ror-" he tried but was cut off by a fresh wave of complaints.

"I don't know what I was thinking! That maybe you actually cared? That "See you around" actually means seeing you around. It apparently changed meanings again, it's crazy, apparently there was a whole memo on this circulating with the hip, young crowd, that I didn't get, because to me "See you around" actually means seeing the other person around..." she went on frantic, making him wonder if she really and truly was pissed. She took a breath, suddenly halting the ramble and he tried to intercept.

"Rory, can I..." he was cut off once again.

"...whatever around means. That's another lame phrase. What the heck is around? Is it around something? Is it around the block? Just around the block, like "I could be running into you any minute?" What the heck is that? How would you know you are going to be running into that person on a freaking island with ten million people?" she went on, the conversation unnoticeably shifting from playful to grave serious, making his smile fade off his face. It was just like her to get worked up during a ramble and say things she didn't intend to.

"Rory" he tried again, his voice pleading as he closed his eyes sighing.

She finally seemed to run out of effort or air or which ever, because she finished her angry rant and sighed, hurt echoing in that long breath.

"You could have called too" he simply said, his voice calm as ever, despite his whole body being on full alert.

Another silence.

This time it was the shocked one. When her lips slightly part and her eyes go a slight bit wide and she takes a sharp but quiet breath.

He chuckled silently picturing her do all this.

"You're supposed to call" he heard her murmur and he smiled even wider, picturing her pouting annoyed.

"Yeah? There was a memo about that too?" he replied and he bit back another chuckle hearing her huff.

"Fine, whatever, you know what? I don't even care. I don't know why I called" she replied hurt.

"Because you missed me" he said, without a hint of cockiness, just cool and calm confidence.

He heard her choke on her breath and he listened, giving her time to ponder her reply.

"And you are jealous" he added, seeing that she needed further provoking.

"What?" she shrieked "I am not... you know, you can go and sleep with Anna or Amy or whatever her name was, it's none of my business, okay, I don't care. But then..."

"I didn't sleep with Anna" he broke off her rant, his voice free of eagerness "not this week anyway" he added getting inpatient, despite knowing it would be a low blow.

"Oh, busy week then, huh?" came her quick reply, hurt echoing in her voice.

"You know, you're quite a critic, despite you going around to people's houses begging to have sex" he shot back, already regretting the words as he said them, realizing the shift in the conversation suddenly turned into a full blown tilt, pushing them over an edge he was so careful to avoid in their last couple of encounters. He cursed himself for saying things like that and listened, hoping she would graciously move past the whole interchange. His hopes were not granted as there was silence on the end of the line, the angry one again, then the phone went dead as she hung up.

He cursed, banging his head back against the window behind him and he dialed her number turning around and resting his head against his propped up hand on the window.

"Come on, Mary, pick up" he bargained, his eyes squeezed shut as he counted the rings.

He got to six, when she finally picked up and his ear was rewarded with another angry rant on full volume.

"You know you got some nerve bringing things up over and over again. Fine, I went to see you, because I missed you. I called you because I missed you. I tried over and over again because I fucking missed you, because I just couldn't give up on this, but obviously I should have because all you do is hold onto grudges and pretend like you never did anything wrong. Because you are perfect and this is all my fault..."

"Where are you?" he asked, his voice so calm, so quiet, he thought she wouldn't even hear. But somehow it had the power to calm her down.

He heard her sigh, her breath coming out ragged, like she was biting back tears.

"Bethesda Fountain" she mumbled and his eyes snapped open.

Images flashed before his eyes as he recalled those summer memories, during the first year they were dating, when he would sneak off of work in the afternoons and meet her by the Fountain to have some lame sandwich for lunch, her summer dresses shining brightly in the blazing sunshine. The times he would blow off work for whole afternoons if her work, and more so, her vigorous self control allowed them to spend time together. The way he would feel 16 again, walking in the sunshine with her, even if back at 16 he never really had the chance. The way her body clad in the thin and flimsy materials made his body feel as she lay back against his lap on the green lawns of the park. The way he would get aroused and would beg her not to move as he torturously tried to get control over his body. The way she'd tease him mercilessly and wiggle in his hold just to make his job more difficult. All those memories were pure bliss.

And pure pain as he opened his eyes to the cruel autumn skyline.

He took a deep breath as he realized that he could probably not mention a place in this whole freaking town that wouldn't remind him of her, that wouldn't hold some bittersweet, fucked up memory of their time together. Every single street, park and building had a story, one of their stories, and walking the sidewalks of this town was utter suffering most of the time.

"Stay there, I'll be there in a little while" he finally said, pleased to not find her protesting.

He hung up the phone without saying goodbye and closed his eyes for a second trying to calm his nerves and certain parts of his anatomy, that seemed to have been fooled by the images his mind could paint from memory. He sighed frustrated knowing that the full process would probably take him the better part of the walk to the park, and hoped the cool autumn weather would help.

xxxxxxxxxxx

It was a grave misconception, really. That springtime was the time to be in New York. Even with all the life and green and beauty and hope that city seemed to posses between the capricious storms and suddenly warm, sunny afternoons, anyone who's ever seen the sad and true colors of Central Park during a gloriously wet autumn would know that there is no other time to be in the city than the fall. The colors seemed to dance and whisper as they moved through the trees, the sky painted a heartbreakingly similar color to her eyes in the early October sunset.

He moved through the gravel sprinkled pathways with ease, his long-long years as a resident guiding him, making him seem like a true New Yorker, even if he was just a rich boy from Connecticut. He pondered for several minutes whether he should close his eyes. For he would probably find his way to her anyway. Not precisely to her, although that was an interesting thought in itself, but rather to the Terrace. And perhaps that way he wouldn't have to engage in being occupied fully by those insanely intense colors of red, brown, green and yellow that seemed to yell and demand and make any heart surge and start screaming.

But he discarded the possibility as he realized, it might be hard to look at these colors, but it made him feel more alive than any pain could ever do, despite the rawness and sharpness.

"Fuck spring, fuck summer" he murmured and chuckled at the long forgotten connotation. This is _the_ time of the year, he added, the thought voiced only in his head.

He stopped suddenly, pulled back from his thoughts as he realized he arrived at his destination. With his back to the impressive Fountain that towered behind him, its angel standing over him like a protective guard, his eyes narrowed as he searched the arcades on the far back of the Terrace knowing full well her figure would be there somewhere hiding in those shady confines.

He wasn't sure he spotted her, but his legs started moving in a direction anyway, and he thought back of the pondering about eyes closed and him finding his way to her despite it all.

Sure as rain she was there, her figure crouched up on a bench telling him that she'd been sitting there for a while now.

His eyes travelled over her figure, from her black trench coat pulled protectively over her body, down to her her knee high black boots and skirt.

He cursed.

"Fuck those boots too" he murmured frustratedly, noting the returning feelings he thought he had managed to control during his short walk from his office building to the park. It would have been cause for questions, had she heard, but he was quiet enough so the strange curse wouldn't echo off the walls of the arcade.

He sat down beside her realizing she probably sensed his presence the minute he stepped foot on the Terrace, as she hardly moved, just hugged her body stronger without looking up at him.

"You cold?" he whispered, his voice strangely concerned.

She sniffed a reply and he could tell it was not just the cold causing her congestion.

"How long have you been sitting here?" he asked. Worried by the rosiness of her cheeks. She didn't reply, stubbornly staring at a spot on the ground.

"Let's walk" he said, concerned about her catching a cold, sitting on those cold stone benches, for who knows how long, but she didn't budge and he gave up trying to persuade her, sighing instead as he leaned back on the bench prepared to give her time to talk.

He stared out over at the Fountain, admiring the way the arcades framed the stark view. His body seemed to calm down, the heat from his brisk walk happily dissolving in the coldness of the air around them and he noted how comfortable it felt to be sitting here next to her, despite all that had transpired between them. When she finally spoke, her voice was surprisingly calm, as though she'd just realized this as well.

"It looks so different in the fall" she said, looking out over the Terrace and he felt compelled to look at her, searching her face for clues to why their thoughts and memories, their minds and not just their bodies seemed to be bound together by some sick will of fate.

"Yeah" he agreed quietly "looks more real."

It didn't really make sense, what he said, at least to anyone else but him, but he was somehow confident she would understand. They did, after all share the same line of thought.

He looked back out over the Terrace and pondered why that seemed to be true for them and whether that was a peculiar coincidence.

Finding someone that it didn't take much effort to talk to, because their mind seemed to be working in such similar way. He remembered how it felt to, finally, talk to someone about things that bruised him for so long, things he kept inside for lack of having the words to explain them. With her, he felt that he didn't need to struggle to find words. Perhaps it was because she was so good with them, or perhaps it was because she read his thoughts, but that year he started dating her, he got introduced to the experience of having a conversation constituting of far more than just the words of two people exchanged.

He missed that the most, really. Those effortless conversations. With everybody else it seemed to take so much effort. Anyone else. His buddies, his colleagues, Anna or whoever she was worried about just now, waiters, clients, cabdrivers, his mother. Especially his mother.

He chuckled unconsciously.

"Do you remember that time you went inside the fountain to get that little boy's boat?" he heard her say dreamily and he looked at her confused, as he got distracted from his thoughts.

He looked back at the Fountain and recalled the memory she was referring to with a smile on his face. He seemed like such a hero that summer afternoon. To the little boy and her also. He remembered that it was the first time that for some reason he contemplated the thought of ever having a child of his own, the first time he thought about having a family with Rory. It, of course, freaked him out to no end and to compensate he pretty much ravaged her in the back of the cab on their way back to their place, to prove himself that he was still reckless and wild and too young to be thinking about dirty diapers.

He wondered if she was thinking about that same cab drive but figured she was just recalling more appropriate memories as he looked back to see her staring at the Fountain with a calm expression.

His eyes remained fixed on her pale face, her insanely blue eyes and rosy-hued lips and for some reason he stared at her for long seconds, mesmerised by the way her sleek figure looked in the black getup. It was the fucking boots, he was sure. He cursed again feeling the unwelcomed arousal.

He got up frustrated and walked out to the edge of the arcade raising his eyes up to the sky, which was now obscured by the fast rolling clouds. He could practically hear the thunder breaking and he noted that the Terrace was slowly clearing of the people, who knew better.

"I didn't sleep with her, you know" he turned around suddenly watching her raise an eyebrow surprised.

"Anna" he added, to clarify. He felt stupid suddenly, but the words seemed to spill from his mouth without him able to control them.

"I wanted to, God, I did" he went on and he saw the hurt replace the flash of relief that settled in on her eyes a moment before.

"I wanted to fuck her" he said, his words becoming cold, cruel "I wanted to fuck her and not care about anything else."

Her expression became hard, as she focused her attention back on the spot on the ground as if by staring at it, she could ignore his words completely.

"I got as far as her place..." he went on, his voice strangely floating and she squirmed uncomfortably.

"Do I really need to hear this, Tristan?" she said, getting up annoyed, walking past him, out of their shelter.

The first drops of rain started falling. Not the heavy, large drops, but the small, stinging kind. She walked towards the lake, her steps fast and small and he dashed after her, with a new found determination.

"And she was willing, God knows she was..." he went on, his voice slightly raised now as he followed her, the black, floating figure racing to get away from him.

"Stop it" she bit out, her voice frustrated.

He grabbed her to spin her around and she shot him a look.

"I kissed her" he said, speaking directly to her, her eyes boiling with anger.

"Stop it!" she repeated, her whole body tensing.

"And I couldn't go through with it" he said, his voice more astonished than considerate.

"Well bruhu, Tristan" came her reply as she tried to tear herself away from his hold. He held her strong though, his mind searching for the right words yet again. If only she would listen to his thoughts.

"I didn't feel anything" he wondered aloud.

"You usually don't" she quipped back and he scoffed, closing his eyes, trying to ignore her attempts to stab him with her words "how does that differ from any of the girls before me?" she finished her question, still consumed with trying to break away from him.

There she went, seeing into his thoughts without even wanting to.

He smiled a wry smile and looked at her, letting go of her hands. She looked up surprised by his sudden release.

"That's just it" he whispered "it doesn't. They are all the same" he went on, stepping closer to her to whisper in her ear as she seemed to be frozen in her spot, holding her breath as she listened to his quiet words.

"I am fucking cursed with wanting you" he said as he looked out over towards the lake, not being able to look at her.

They stood, their bodies eternally close, their faces only inches away from each other's, both staring into the distance. The air seemed to vibrate between the two and he wondered if his fucking arousal would ever subside. It was either the weather, or her perfume, or just the simple thought of her. But standing there, trying to control his body and thoughts seemed to be the biggest task of the last couple of months for him.

He closed his eyes and willed himself to break away. To take a fucking step, to put some distance between them, because he felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach knowing this will lead to nothing more than a heartbreakingly short release and the quite good chance of him waking up to an empty apartment again.

"I'm going home" he said, walking past her, that thought suddenly giving him the strength to end this conversation.

He heard her gasp quietly, as if the distance finally allowed her to let herself take a breath.

"You can call me, Rory, if you want to see me" he said, his voice calm, determined, as he walked towards the east.

He willed himself not to look back at her, however much he wished to see her expression at that moment. He remained strong though, being almost positive that she turned around to stare after him, a little shocked but with a light smile creeping on her face.

He walked out of the park that day with a new found energy, as if he had just ran a marathon, his body spent, but strangely alive, the autumn colors cheering him on as his long steps carried him out from under the trees in the breaking storm. He was cool and confident, all of the feelings he had been struggling with all afternoon, suddenly under control and behind gates, like beasts that finally learn their place. He felt like he had nothing to lose and everything to win. He walked home and wasn't going to obsess about anything anymore that day.

Because he was strangely reassured.

And because Tristan DuGray had a plan.


	9. Head under water

"I don't get it. It was my friggin' birthday, mom. My birthday. And no call, no message, no friggin' singing telegram" Rory rambled, her voice getting more frustrated by the second.

"And we all know how you love those" her mother replied, her voice a bit cynical.

"Don't I deserve a congratulation? A 'hey, happy birthday, you messed up freak' at least?" she went on, not even acknowledging her mother's reaction.

"You definitely deserve a messed up freak comment" Lorelai commented.

Rory sighed, closing her eyes.

"Look, honey, he is probably waiting for you to make a move. He sort of said so" Lorelai pointed out.

Rory remained silent, not wanting to agree.

"He probably sort of wanted to provoke you with not contacting you, even if it was your birthday" her mother went on.

"So what is that supposed to mean?" she asked, furrowing her brows as she laid flat on her back staring up at her ceiling while holding the phone to her ear "Does he care? Does he not care? Does he want this or is he just feeling sorry for me so that's the reason why he still bothers to even talk to me?" she said, finishing her rant with a little sigh.

She listened to the quiet static of the phone line.

"Hmmm" her mother pondered. It wasn't one of those times when she was making up an insane ramble in her head and taking the time to perfect it. She was taking this seriously.

"I guess, he is playing hard to get" she finally said and Rory blinked a couple of times to register the words.

"Hard to get?" she deadpanned.

"Yeah, like giving you the lead, see what you do to get his attention" Lorelai elaborated.

"You think he is playing hard to get?" Rory repeated, still apparently stuck on that particular phrase.

"Yeah" her mother replied.

"That's not like him at all" she murmured.

"Well, that's just it. It had always been him fighting for your attention, chasing after you, trying to get you to give him a chance, trying to win you over... I think he is expecting you to be chasing him right now" her mother explained.

Rory listened to her stunned.

"Okay mom, we are not in high school, you know" she pointed out, rather cynically.

"Oh please. Like these games ever change" her mother countered "You always want the things you can't have. If he'll play hard to get, you'll just realize you want him that much more" she explained.

"I don't think our problems will be solved by him playing hard to get" she mumbled.

"Well what do you think would solve your problems? What are your problems exactly?" her mother stirred the conversation ever so lightly. Rory sighed. She was sick of trying to pinpoint problems in her life.

"I don't know, mom" she murmured, barely recognizable.

"Oh God" her mother exhaled loudly "child, get yourself together. Look, it's obvious you can't be without him..." she started.

"It's obvious I can't be with him either" she intercepted, her voice hurt and disappointed at the same time.

"Well good for you, Bono will be so proud" her mother retorted.

Rory sighed again and there was a long pause before either of them spoke again.

"You know it doesn't have to be so hard" her mother said, her voice quiet, careful.

Rory listened carefully, hearing the change of tone.

"You just take a chance, Rory, as with everything. You never know for sure if it's the right choice. But I think after all this, you could give him the benefit of the doubt. He could have washed his hands clean and gave up on this whole fiasco, but he didn't. He is trying. Why don't you try, too?" Lorelai finished and Rory listened to the rhetorical question hanging in the air.

There was a slight pause.

"So what am I supposed to do? Call him for a date?" she scoffed.

"Call him for a date, stand on a table to declare your love, I don't know. Aren't you supposed to be the creative one in the family?"  
her mother teased.

"But this is so ridiculous" she groaned, squeezing her eyes tightly.

"Love is ridicule" her mother chimed.

"You are so helpful" Rory deadpanned.

"Glad to be of service" Lorelai replied in a singsong voice.

Rory hung up the phone with a half smile on her face, resuming to stare at the ceiling.

Could her mother be right? Did he really and intentionally want her to chase after him?

She furrowed her brows. She felt embarrassed even thinking about this. She was never the one to fight for the attention of boys.

They always seemed to find him. It was always them falling all over themselves to get her to be interested.

Even with Logan, where the beginning was rocky and she later had to realize that it was important for her to make compromises for a guy and not just for them to adore her, he was the one who pursued her. And there was Jess of course, who in his own way, waited and fought for her for as long as it took her to realize she wanted him too. And then there was Dean. The perfect first boyfriend. And then the perfect screwed up affair.

She cringed.

It was a pathetic line of romantic connections. And she suddenly realized she was still a rookie when it came to making a move.

She couldn't remember the last time she asked someone on a date.

With Tristan, it had all seemed so easy. She hardly realized and they were already together, falling into a comfortable pattern that let them skip the whole awkward phase of dating. They were living together within 3 months, much to her mother's surprise. It felt natural and it felt easy.

Looking back on it, maybe it was rushed. Maybe it was just relief on her part, to find someone that she could feel so happy and natural with, after months and years of being miserable and lonely, after doubting her decisions about choosing the kind of life she had.

Looking back now, maybe she could have taken that time more slow. And less for granted.

She sighed and dialed his number impulsively on her cell.

She sat up in her bed, as if that leverage would give her a calmness she desperately needed now that her heart seemed to be racing a million beats per minute.

She held her breath counting the rings, disappointment slowly setting in as she got to 6 without hearing his voice.

"Hello?" his voice finally came on, calm and unfazed.

She swallowed a cynical comment, recalling her mother's theory.

"Hey" she said, her voice coming out uncertain and nervous "It's me, uhm, Rory".

She winced knowing full well that he knew who was calling.

"Hey" he replied, his tone much the same as the first time.

She ignored her surprise and started fidgeting with the sleeve of her sweater.

"How are you?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant and she winced again, hearing how silly her voice sounded.

"I'm good Rory, how are you?" came his reply, and she could swear he was mocking her.

"I am good, fine. Uhm, I was just wondering what you were up to" she replied the words coming out in a fast succession.

There was a pause before he spoke again.

"Just work" he said, his voice as calm as ever.

"Oh" she said "You are pretty busy?" she asked, not able to hide the disappointment in her voice.

"Yeah, it's a busy week" he replied, honestly.

She sighed, feeling ready to give up on this whole thing. Maybe she was just not able to be the proactive one.

As if sensing her turmoil, he spoke up.

"What were you calling for, Rory?" he said, his words soft, and so gentle, it made her sigh.

"Just wondered if you wanted to meet up, do something" she mumbled.

He chuckled and she realized that she sounded like a teenager asking out a high school crush.

"I have to go to this gallery opening tonight, it's for work" she rambled on, trying to mask her insecurity "I don't know if it's any good.

It's this guy who photographs dead animals, it's supposed to be very thought-provoking".

"He kills animals and photographs them?" he asked, his voice unsure.

"No! No. He doesn't actually kill them, he just takes photographs of animals that are dead, that he finds lying around, like I don't know, pigeon ran over, or squashed bug or I don't know" she explained.

"A squashed bug?" he wondered aloud.

"It does sound weird, if you say it out loud, I guess" she mumbled, suddenly unsure.

"What are you talking about? People go crazy for squashed bugs" he chuckled.

Okay, he was definitely mocking her now.

"Well, we can just do something else..." she tried to intercept.

"Look, I would... _love_ to see squashed bugs" he went on, still not quite able to stop chuckling "but uh... today is pretty busy, so I don't know..."

"Oh" she said, disappointment hitting her. She felt her whole face light up and she felt an incredible urge to slam the phone down.

"Why don't you text me the address and I'll see if I can make it" he said, his voice matter of fact. It reminded Rory of the way he spoke with clients.

"Yeah, sure, fine, I'll do that" she said, trying to plaster a fake smile on her face.

"Alright, talk to you later" he said, hanging up.

"Alright, bye" she replied into the dead phone and sighed, falling back onto her bed exhausted.

"Ridiculous" she whispered as she pushed her wrists to her eyes, squeezing them shut.

xxxxxxxxxxx

She felt stupid staring at the huge black and white print of the dead frog in her silver mini dress and black stilettos, her hair done up in a loose bun.

She had been circling the damn exhibition for a good ninety minutes now, downing her 4th glass of complimentary champagne and checking her cellphone every 5 minutes to see if he called or messaged.

He didn't.

She sighed and took another sip of her champagne while staring into the lifeless eyes of the amphibian.

She never wanted to be a dead frog so badly in her life. She stared at the rigid form of the animal, flattened out and pressed into the dirt road that showed the impression of a truck tire, the summer sun reflecting on its opalesque and unsettlingly enlarged eyes.

She frowned and took another sip of champagne, effectively emptying her glass.

"So weird yet so... disgusting" she heard his voice and she spun around suddenly, the movement causing her to feel dizzy.

"Tristan" she said, more surprised than as a greeting.

"Hey" he said, looking into her eyes, a warm smile plastered on his face as he took in her appearance.

"Sorry, got held up at the office" he said, his voice calm as he took the empty champagne glass from her hand, smelling the remnants of the liquid lining the walls of the glass.

She watched his actions, the 86 minutes of reproaches she formulated in her head while waiting for him, suddenly vanishing in the air.

She concentrated on the floor, straightening her posture, aware that her movements were affected by the alcohol.

He seemed to notice.

"How many of these have you had?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

She arched an eyebrow turning back to her friend, the frog.

"A couple" she shrugged, studying the photograph intently as she felt him come to stand behind her.

They stood in silence and she could feel his breath on the back of her neck, sending shivers down her spine.

"I like this one" she said, her voice calm.

"The frog?" he asked, his voice unconvinced.

"Yeah" she said turning back to glance at him "it looks cool. It could be a book cover" she said.

"Of a novel about a troubled 8 year old?" he joked.

She huffed.

"I don't know" he said "What would it be about?" he asked as he stole a glass of champagne for himself from a waiter who passed them.

She took a deep breath, concentrating on the picture in front of her.

"I don't know" she shrugged "Childhood, I guess. Loss of innocence. Change of perspective as you grow up"

"Change of perspective?" he asked and she could feel his eyes on her.

"Yeah, how some things you view one way when you are growing up and then later on when you're faced with them, you realize that they represent something completely different" she explained.

"And the frog is a metaphor for that?" he asked, his tone not as mocking anymore.

"Yeah, I mean, to a child, it must be a traumatic sight, right? Heartbreaking even. Whereas to a grown-up" she went on, shrugging "it's something simple. Discarded and disregarded"

He listened to her in silence and she glanced at him again, seeing him lost in thought.

"I always thought you'd write a book" he said quietly.

"What?" she asked furrowing her brows as she laughed.

He looked up at her meeting her eyes.

"That time we went to that book signing for Jess" he said and she remembered that day with a blush in her cheeks.

"You were so proud of him and happy for him, but then I watched you and there was something in you, like a hidden urge to be the same, to write something and put it out there" he explained.

"I'm not a writer" she said laughing.

"You are" he countered with a smirk on his face.

"Not a novelist" she corrected herself.

"Why?" he asked, the smirk still present on his face.

"Because, I report, I interview, I write about the truth" she said, shaking her head.

"And writers don't?" he asked.

"Writers write fiction" she retorted "I am too down to earth to write fiction"

"Bullshit" he laughed "you'd be great at it" he said, walking up to the next photograph as he sipped from his glass.

"I imagined the kind of book you would write. And it would be like that" he went on, his voice dreamy "loss of innocence and change of perspective and all that. Growing up".

"Why?" she asked, her voice breathy.

"I don't know. I figured you'd have a lot to say about all of that" he shrugged.

"But honestly, I never pictured a dead frog on the cover" he snickered.

She stared after him for a second, replaying the strange conversation in her head.

She was suddenly reminded of the fact how easily he seemed to find those possibilities that somehow never even crossed her mind, yet seemed so unambiguous. She wondered if he was that person in her life, shining light on things she somehow ignored up till that point. It was hard to argue with him. Especially since he'd much rather slide on seamlessly, making a quite joke to change the subject than to explore a question in full detail like she felt obligated to.

She walked up next to him to look at the next installation of a roadkill that she couldn't quite identify.

"Now this... this calls for a whole opera" he joked as he tilted his head, trying to decipher the lines of the photograph. She watched him with a quiet smile.

"I wonder if he ever gets tempted to photograph stuff that is still alive" she murmured as she looked at the picture and he chuckled.

"It's easier to focus on still things" he offered as an explanation and she rolled her eyes at his inability to take anything seriously.

She took his glass from his hand, finishing off what little champagne was still in there.

"The bug is in the next row" she informed him, trying not to slur the words and she smiled when she heard him chuckle.

"How 'bout we get out of here instead?" he lent in whispering in her ear as if he were about to tell her a secret "this place creeps me out"

"I suppose we could" she said turning around "I can't very well expect you to understand such divine and high-level art" she teased and he smiled watching as she grabbed her coat from the rack by the door.

She stepped out into the evening chill and immediately felt her head clear, the cold air washing out the alcohol that was clouding her head.

Her stilettos clicked on the sidewalk and she started walking, towards no target in particular.

"Is everything alright at the office? They held you up pretty late" she probed, trying to not sound affected by his lateness.

He sighed as he fell into step next to her.

"It's just a case we've been working on. Takes up a lot of time" he replied, trying to brush it off, but her question seemed to unleash the heard of troubles he tried to leave at the office, his face becoming grim as he walked next to her.

She knew he never talked about business much. It wasn't because he wasn't occupied by it, or because he didn't think she would understand. But he seemed to want to keep his private life separate from his work troubles. That's something he decided very early on, thanks to his own father's workaholic lifestyle.

"Trying to clear some lying bastard's name?" she tried to lighten the mood and he smiled wryly.

"Yeah, something like it" he said.

They walked for a minute in silence and she felt compelled to drop the subject.

"So uhm... Paris is... having a Halloween party" she said trying to switch the subject "next week. It's a week early actually, but she has some convention or whatever the week after that, so she is organizing it next week" she went on, realizing she was once again rambling.

She sneaked a peak and saw him smirking as he walked next to her, his gaze fixed ahead.

"So anyway... she invited me... us... I mean she asked if you'd like to come and all and I said I'd ask" she mumbled, suddenly feeling like a child.

"And I know how crazy you are about dressing up in drag..." she tried to joke, stopping her walk and seeing him take a couple of more steps before he turned around to face her.

"So maybe you could come with me?" she finally said, sighing in relief having finally gotten the words out.

He studied her and she shifted her weight uncomfortably.

There was a couple of seconds of silence as he seemed to formulate the words that he wanted to say.

She furrowed her brows wondering if this was still a part of the playing hard to get act.

"Rory" he started and her heart sped up "you think that's a good idea?" he said, sighing.

"Halloween?" she asked, playing dumb "no, I mean, it's a silly idea really, but it's tradition"

He laughed.

"That's not what I meant" he pointed out and she sighed knowing full well what he meant.

"You sure it's a good idea for us to show up there together?" he asked.

She sighed, resuming her walk, ignoring his question.

"Last they know, we broke up" he pointed out.

"That's not the last they know" she replied, hurt.

"Well, the last I know they know" he corrected.

"What does it matter?" she murmured.

"Really? You want to be answering questions about the state of our union while dressed as Flash Gordon and Goldilocks?" he asked, his voice becoming tense.

"I was thinking Snow-white" she joked bitterly.

He grabbed her hand forcing her to stop and look at her.

She sighed, biting back the tears.

"I don't know, I'm sorry, it was a stupid idea, let's just forget it" she said, exhaling sharply.

"Rory" he said her name, his voice pleading.

"No Tristan, stop. I am trying here, okay? You can't say I am not, but you make it really hard" she burst out.

"I make it hard?" he laughed incredulous "Rory, you ask me out on a fucking date and that's your 'trying hard'?"

She turned around again, anger boiling over.

"Don't walk away" he said grabbing her hand once again.

"This is going to take time you know" he said, stressing the words to make his point.

"I don't have time, Tristan!" she yelled frustrated "I am sick of this! What are we doing? Why? How is this going to make things right? We pretend we are complete strangers out on fucking dates. I don't have to get to know you. I know you! You know me. What are we doing?" she cried, blinking back the tears she was desperate not to show.

"I am tired of this, okay? I am tired of not being able to touch you and having to watch what I say. I am tired of pondering about how many days I have to wait until I can call you or how many days will it take for you to call me. I don't want this, I want us" she went on.

He watched her, with a stern face, his breathing becoming fast and shallow.

"Rory" he pleaded, closing his eyes as if trying to control his emotions.

"What?" she asked, her voice impatient.

"It can't just go back to that. Not after all that's happened" he said quietly and his words seemed to shatter her.

"Why?" she asked, the word barely coming out as she looked at him.

"Because I don't trust this" he said, dragging out the words as if it took a great deal of effort for him.

She stood there in the quiet of the evening, the words delivering a crushing blow that she was half expecting. She realized she should be thankful for the fact that he used such a vague term, but in reality she knew what he meant was that he couldn't trust her.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to calm herself, to calm her body and her raging thoughts.

"Alright" she said opening her eyes finally, managing to regain some control.

She pulled her coat more tight around her body, suddenly feeling the chill of the abandoned street. She felt a strange urge to get out of there, to get away from him, to end this silly night and this silly day.

She felt him grab her hand once again and she sighed wishing he'd stop doing that.

"I'll meet you at the party next week, okay?" he said, his voice more calm, almost pleading, as if he were trying to forget what just transpired between the two of them.

She huffed not knowing if she should view it as his pity or his submersion or him trying to convince himself. The fact that the party was more than a week away and that he would probably not call until then was just an added bonus.

She sighed, too tired to fight or question anything anymore.

"Alright" she repeated herself and she pulled her hand out of his grasp walking towards the subway, feeling strangely lightheaded, despite all effect of the alcohol she consumed long gone. She managed to not look back, knowing it was probably better for the both of them.


	10. Mercy

He didn't use to dream. Not in his adult life anyway.

It was probably a consequence of military school, where sleep would be far fetched and easily disturbed. When sleep would be shallow, missing peace. When falling asleep would be impregnated with the anxiety of waking up to the morning call, that would signal the start of the mindless routine that guided his life back then from minute to minute of every day.

That's why it had been a shock to welcome back dreams into his life, into his sleep, way back in college. They would be short and nearly impossible to recall, but he was sure he had them. They would be lingering in his mind all morning, setting the mood as he would perform his early morning jog. Because he would still get up at an ungodly hour despite being his own master. Those couple of years of getting up early set his internal alarm clock irrevocably.

With Rory, the dreams got more intense. As did his life. For the first time he felt challenged, influenced, motivated by another human being. And her spontaneity, her inscrutability would amaze him constantly, bathing his dreams with memories of her. He remembered those summer nights the most, when perhaps because of the slow heat settling in over the city he would have vivid dreams of how it felt to walk next to her, to be with her, her scent and movements playing in his mind. When waking up would be a long intertwining of dreams and reality, her body heat slowly soaking his consciousness as she would melt into his form.

When she left, the dreams got unbearable.

For they were still there, still haunting, but resulted in the over sensing of the lack of her presence. He would wake, slowly, and torturously, the images, the wanting playing in his mind and his first conscious thoughts would be akin to the first successful breaths of those who'd just nearly escaped drowning, when the air that actually promises you life still only stings your lungs as it fills them after the overwhelming feeling of burning water.

That's what it would feel like to awake. That's what it still felt like to this day.

And then there was the desire.

So real, so intense, it would numb him. When the nearness of her in his dreams would take over his senses, awakening his desire for her, despite him not wanting to want her anymore. If it would have been a conscious decision, not wanting her anymore, he was sure he could have managed to lock her out of her life sooner. But it wasn't. Wanting her was the strongest command his body ever encountered. Wanting her was a given, was inevitable. Wanting her was torture.

That had been a shock at first. Realizing the power she had over his body. Realizing the knowledge she possessed. Who would have thought. Sure, she was a teenage object of desire, deflowering the Mary haunting his fantasies for a long long time. And they do say the quiet ones are always the wildest, but honestly, he never would have thought.

The way she made love, the way she participated in anything intimate, was such a stark contrast to how she lived her life, guided by lists written and imaginary. The way she made love was pure poetry, erratic and unpredictable, overwhelming and maddening. The way she made love made him realize he never had before meeting her.

Sure, he'd had sex. He'd fucked and had been given head and had performed most of the poses known to men in one drunken stupor or another. But he had never made love, where the nearness and lightness of contentment was so bruising, so liberating it would annihilate his mind. Where his body seemed to dissolve and escape his own well secured customs. When conscious control of any kind simply stopped existing.

Being vocal was just part of it. A surprising part nevertheless. Sure he used words and sounds to drive a lover to the edge before, always leading, always being in full control even if he was succumbing to the most burning of arousals. Being vocal with her wasn't a choice. It was inevitable, it was a mirror of how lost and uncontrolled she made him feel. He would whisper, curse, swear, moan and beg, chanting her name or groaning his indescribable pleasure in her ear, not worrying about who else would hear. He was sure someone did. Even luxury apartments had limited wall thickness.

He smirked realizing his mind once again found its way back into the gutter, like so many times when he stood in his darkened office at the end of the day.

It was Friday and he should have been at the party for 20 minutes already.

He'd pulled a long day in his office and the last thing he wanted right now was a loud Halloween party, but honestly he could take the party. The party wasn't his concern.

It was her.

They hadn't talked since that heated confrontation on the street but she'd been haunting his mind and his dreams all week long.

Starting with the minute he got back to his apartment that night, with images of her silver dress and her black stilettos playing vividly in his mind. He wanted to be angry at her, to yell at her, to punish her, but mostly he wanted to fuck her senseless. It had been too long.  
He remembered that as he got home that night, swearing loudly and kicking things in his way to release some pent up aggression, a massive erection between his legs. He sat down in front of his penthouse view hoping the quiet skyline would calm his raging thoughts and body, but he eventually gave up, jerking off violently to the memory of her.

He couldn't remember the last time he felt so guilty, so weak. He hated himself and hated her, for banishing him back to the helpless land of unsatisfiable childhood wants.

Not calling her all week was atonement and punishment and revenge all in one. But mainly torture for himself, he realized now standing in his office window still not quite sure what the hell he was going to do.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Wow, DuGray. Really. All that effort you put in, it warms my heart" the blond deadpanned as she opened the door to find Tristan in his black suit he wore for work that day.

Tristan let his eyes travel down her body dressed in a Dorothy costume that was not quite as innocent as Judy Garland would have remembered it.

"I'm dressed as a poor lawyer worked to the bone, you like it?" he smirked leaning in to kiss Paris on the cheek.

"So original" she rolled her eyes as she let him enter.

"How have you been? I haven't heard from you since..." Paris asked and Tristan couldn't help but smirk, more than surprised to hear actual concern in her voice.

"I've been fine, Paris. How is residency?" he said, changing the subject as he looked around the crowded room, unconsciously scanning the crowd.

"It's great. 36 hour shifts, 120 hour weeks. Gotta love it" she replied.

"You getting good?" he smirked still scanning the crowd.

"Yeah, got any spare parts you would like me to operate on?" Paris replied arching an eyebrow as she watched Tristan survey the room.

"Hey, hotshot" she said, finally getting his attention "she is in the next room getting some drinks" she said "why don't you go find her, she's been doing the staring at the door routine all evening" she finished, smirking as she moved to greet some others.

Tristan smiled, then made his way towards the room Paris was talking about.

He stood in the doorway and scanned the darkly lit room full of people all dancing around and chattering.

His eyes came to rest on a figure and he almost choked.

Rory turned around from the bar, dressed in her Chilton uniform. Her plaid skirt, now ending dangerously high on her thighs, swayed as she turned, the knee high socks making her legs seem even longer than they were. A tight white shirt showing quite a bit of cleavage and her hair done up in two ponytails, she looked like every sexual predators' wildest dream.

Tristan felt his mouth go dry and he couldn't stop staring.

It was a weird mix of fantasy and memories, seeing her like that. Not quite the way she used to be, but definitely the way she used to occupy his mind. He suddenly remembered what it felt like to be a horny teenager staring at the girl he so wanted, watching her concentrate in class, or dance with someone other than him at the winter formal, how it felt to clumsily kiss her on a piano bench.

God he hadn't thought of the piano bench in such a long time.

His hungry eyes took in every inch of her body as she stood there sipping a drink unknowingly. Her eyes finally met his and he still stood dumbfounded, not able to move or talk.

She smiled a shy smile and walked up to him slowly, obviously knowing full well the effect she had on him.

"Wow" he hissed and she arched an eyebrow daringly.

He was sure he could have found some more words to formulate had he not been preoccupied with trying to reverse the massive erection he was developing, but this way, he just had to stick with staring and blinking occasionally.

"Love the costume, very original" she smirked, her voice not at all surprised at his lack of an effort.

"This" he gestured towards her getup "are you trying to torture me?" he asked her flat out and smirked as he saw another innocent smile plastered on her face.

"What are you talking about?" she asked in an angelic voice, feigning innocence as she waltzed past him towards the other room, leaving him to try to compose himself.

She was so trying to torture him, he thought to himself.

He took a deep breath bracing himself for what would be a long evening and headed for the bar, hoping a couple of rounds of something strong and Scottish would help him break his spell.

He signaled to the bartender and ordered his whiskey on the rocks trying to concentrate on baseball, his latest case, cold showers, anything...

"Hey Tristan, my friend, how are things?" he heard as someone patted him on the back.

"Mission achieved" he murmured smirking as he turned around to face Doyle, clad in a scarecrow outfit.

"I'm alright Doyle, how are you?" he asked, his voice tired, weary.

"Fine, things are good. This costume is killing me though" the shorter guy sighed and Tristan chuckled at his discomfort.

"What are you dressed as anyways?" Doyle asked, looking Tristan up and down.

"James Bond" he replied smoothly as he downed his first drink, the fiery liquid stinging the back of his throat.

"See, that's cool" Doyle whined "and so much more comfortable than hay" he sighed.

Tristan signaled to the bartender for another round as he stood next to Doyle, barely acknowledging his discomfort.

"So... Rory" the guy started, his voice cautious "did she use to dress like that back in Chilton?"

Tristan chuckled again as he turned around, leaning against the bar next to Doyle.

"No man, not quite" he said with a smile.

"I tell you, that uniform... I don't know what the hell private schools are thinking" Doyle went on "All I have to say is, every time me and Paris have a little rut in our sex life... all she has to do is find that old uniform..."

Tristan cringed at the words, closing his eyes, damning Doyle for putting images in his head.

"Too much information, man" he chuckled.

"Right, sorry" Doyle apologized.

"So how are things with you two?" Doyle asked turning towards Tristan as the blond knocked back his second glass of whiskey. Sans rocks this time.

He took his time swallowing, hoping something would distract Doyle in the meantime, but he had no such luck.

"Things are... I don't know Doyle" he said, honestly.

"Well, that uniform is a message my friend" Doyle said turning back towards the other room, where he could make out Rory's form in the eye catching uniform.

Tristan avoided having to stare at her and turned back towards the bar again, wondering if he would raise suspicion in the bartender, ordering his third whiskey in under 5 minutes.

"My advice would be to go and give her what she is asking for" Doyle went on, inducing another cringe from Tristan.

The shorter guy patted Tristan in the back as he moved on to greet others, leaving him standing at the bar.

"Another round, please" he said to the bartender, who was eyeing him a bit worried.

"My ex-girlfriend is the one in the uniform" he offered as an explanation.

"Nuff said" the bartender replied, his eyes showing compassion as he poured Tristan another drink.

xxxxxxxx

He was the solemn kind of drunk, not the loud, obnoxious one. He noticed that back in military school, where their rare outings into the town's pub would end with him sitting in the corner watching amused as the other guys would create a riot. The light buzz in his head would paint everything a bit distant and amusing at the same time, leaving him to wonder about whatever came to his mind.

Which is exactly what he was doing now, standing with his back against the wall, watching the happily smashed couples dance and laugh in the living room of Paris and Doyle's huge apartment.

He felt warm, but comfortable, the countless whiskeys he consumed not really making him stone drunk, but rather tipsy, his mood considerably lighter than when he had first gotten here. He also noticed that about alcohol. It did diffuse pain and angst and worries and feelings and whatever you wanted it to diffuse really.

That was probably the basis of alcoholism, he thought to himself, chuckling lightly.

Alcohol also did slow down his senses somewhat, which is how he only recognized Rory when she was standing straight in front of him.

She slid up next to him, resting her back against the wall, looking out over the scene.

"So..." she started and he looked at her, noticing the mischief in her eyes.

"Mr. Remmy told me I should borrow someone's notes for the test, would you be willing?" she said, her voice playful.

He chuckled, remembering the very first conversation they had more than ten years ago.

She was wearing the very same outfit, but she was nowhere near as sexy back then as she looked now. She was shy back then, and naive. Quiet and held back. It intrigued him.

She was confident now, elegant and breathtaking. Even dressed like this. And it still intrigued him.

"Yeah" he replied, his voice a bit husky as he stared at her "I could even help you study if you want" he played along.

Her face lit up, happy to be reciting their lines once again.

"Um, I kind of view studying as a solitary activity, but thanks" she replied, her smile full fledged...

"That's because you've never done it with me before... Mary" he replied, smiling to himself about how easy it was to improvise the kind of comebacks he used to back when he was a teenager. He watched her reaction, turning towards her but still leaning against the wall.

She chuckled, raising an eyebrow, not turning towards him, but letting him stare at her profile.

He watched her, drinking in her sight hungrily. She was beautiful. Simply and annoyingly gorgeous. Her blue eyes shined and sparkled under the flashing lights, her dark chocolate locks cascading down, framing her face, her pale skin giving her an angelic air about her.

He wanted her so bad, it hurt.

He was suddenly reminded of the time he fell off of a stand while doing a drill. He suffered two fractured ribs and had pneumothorax. The doctors ended up putting in a chest drain which was basically a stab to the chest. But that wasn't the worst pain. The drain let the air down, expanding his lungs. That was the worst, the constant pain he felt, seemingly coming from deep inside his chest, making it impossible for him to breathe.

That's the kind of pain it felt to look at Rory and not to be able to touch her, to kiss her, to pull her close and breathe in her scent that he could distinctly make out right now.

He stared at her through his alcohol induced haze, and suddenly none of his previous resolutions, determined decisions seemed quite important.

He wondered if this was her plan, really. To tease him mercilessly with this getup, to make him want her this bad, make him abandon his plan of playing hard to get. It wouldn't be surprising. She knew how to get what she wanted. And when she had a plan, she certainly stuck to it.

He saw a random guy approach Rory asking her to dance and she said yes, glancing momentarily at him as she followed the dude towards the makeshift dance floor.

Tristan watched as she started to dance to the upbeat song blasting from the stereos, her movements graceful but still modest.

It might have been the alcohol, or just the thought, or running out of strength and determination, but at that point breathing was a true and utter effort. Nevermind the pneumothorax, watching some guy dance with her when she looked the way she looked now was the worst a man could ever feel.

He felt like he was standing at the winter formal again and he contemplated for a second whether Paris would be mad at him if he caused a similar scene than the one back then. He chuckled again knowing full well that Paris didn't quite appreciate irony the way he did.

He pushed himself off the wall and walked towards her, keeping her in his sight, his movements slow, but confident.

She noticed him straight away and looked at him smiling confused as he reached her, ignoring the protest of the guy she was dancing with.

He reached out to touch her, to finally touch her, pulling her body close to his as he started swaying to the music. She smiled, her surprise fading, replaced instead by the confidence he'd seen in her all night.

"Poor Paul seems disappointed" she remarked cheekily, referring to the guy he was dancing with before Tristan cut in.

"Paul can go screw himself" he replied, his voice coming out husky as he stared at those intensely blue eyes.

She took a sharp intake of breath as he pulled her even closer, their bodies molding together as they danced. He lent in closer finally able to inhale her scent and she closed her eyes, seemingly affected by his proximity, her body becoming weaker in his hands. His hand travelled up her back and up to her hair, feeling the silky locks between his fingers. He closed his eyes, his face touching hers, her smooth skin warming his own.

It felt intense, it felt familiar and so very foreign at the same time, having her in his arms again in actuality. Dreams could never feel this real, this painfully true. He knew that even as his mind shut down completely to all rational thought, and everything seemed to dissolve around them.


	11. Ultraviolet

Despite having been raised Lorelai Gilmore's girl, despite living alone in Manhattan, despite being a poster child for woman strength and independence, despite working as a young reporter at the country's most influential newspaper, she liked to be lead.

By him at least.

There was something about his quiet confidence, his restrained attraction that made her give up trying to formulate any rational thoughts.

There was something about the way he took her hand and pulled her out of that crowded room, that apartment and down to the street, where a quiet rainfall was waiting to soak them. There was something that made her not think about any of the doubts anymore.

She'd left the doubts behind, somewhere along the way. There was no rational reason to explain why. Did anything change? Did her life become more clear? Was she any more sure about what and how and why she wanted?

No.

There was no sureness in her life, thoughts or head. Only wanting him. Missing him.

She was sure of that only.

Being lead by him, down the street, towards his apartment building that was only a couple of blocks away, this seemed to be the only thing occupying her mind. There were no protests, no what ifs.

She sneaked a peak at him, his movements brusque, fast and efficient and she could recognize his hidden arousal. It made her blood boil and she suddenly felt like that night when their first date was supposed to take place. He saw the same want in his gestures the minute he stepped in through her door and it unnerved her, confused her and aroused her all in one.

When Tristan DuGray wanted you, wanted you the way he did, with the quite confidence, the smooth restrain, there was not much to do. She knew that.

She saw him look back at her as they reached his street, his lust filled eyes glancing over her soaked body and she felt a rush of adrenaline surge through her veins. It was as if his arousal was projected into her, as if she could feel his own desire reach her body.

He pulled her into the apartment building and into the elevator that closed behind them. He pushed the buttons and finally turned to her, making her pulse race.

Up till now there was noise, there was music and the sound of rain and cars speeding past. Now there was complete silence, the quiet hum of the elevator the only noise, aside from the the steady sound of their laboured breathing. The look in his darkened eyes seemed to overwhelm her and she felt herself rest her back against the wall of the elevator for support.

He moved closer, resting his weight on his hands on the wall on either side of her, making her breathing hitch. His face was inches away and all she could do was stare at his mouth that seemed to linger close enough, but still not touching.

She could swear she saw the slightest of smirks on his face as the elevator came to a stop and he turned around, pulling her along. She felt dizzy, lightheaded as she followed him.

He opened his door with clumsy hands and she realized he'd had a couple of drinks back at the party.

You could never tell with Tristan, alcohol didn't seem to affect him much. If anything, it made him more quiet, and contemplative. It made him more desirable.

He walked in through his door throwing the keys off to the side and turning around to shut the door behind her.

She suddenly realized the incredible lust that he tried to control, his eyes sparkled with a dark want and his breathing was fast as he moved closer to her, his fingers reaching out unsurely to trace her form.

She felt empowered seeing that affect on him and she smiled as she slipped from his reach, walking slowly over to the huge windows looking out over the city.

She heard a frustrated sigh from behind her and she smiled, liking the fact she could tease him.

She made sure to sway her hips as she walked, knowing it would give him a nice view of her legs and her ass barely covered by the short skirt she was wearing.

She was glad she had the guts to wear the outfit.

She stared at it for hours before finally managing to gather the strength to put it on, but once she did it gave her a mix of arousal and feeling of power at the same time.

She closed her eyes, images of her time back in high school flooding her brains.

She was a late bloomer for sure, having mainly tame memories of high school and uniforms, but after starting dating Tristan, they have revisited those memories time and time again during their intimate talks.

His recounts of what it felt like to watch her in those uniforms and to want her, made her thoughts race and the images started to occupy her mind. She wondered about how it would have been to be more adventurous back then. She wondered about the experiences she missed by being so shy and naive.

Being in his apartment right now, dressed like this, having him stare at her aroused, she suddenly realized she had a chance to see what it would have been like. To be bold. To be the bad girl.

She turned around slowly, leaning against the window and looked at him, giving him a smirk that seemed to surprise him. His breathing hitched and he moved towards her, his eyes once again going dark.

He reached her, pulling her close.

"What are you doing?" he breathed, his voice cracking as he closed his eyes, inhaling her scent.

"What do you mean?" she teased as she accentuated the curve of her back, feeling his hand slide along it.

"You're teasing" he murmured against the skin of her neck.

She smirked again as she moved away slightly, pretending to be occupied with her hair that clung to her face in wet curls. She took out the hairbands holding the ponytails and shook her curls gently, water spraying around them.

He sighed again and leaned against the window, placing his hands in his pockets as he watched her.

"You're teasing" he repeated, barely audible as he smiled.

She took a few undetermined steps towards the middle of the room and turned around to face him, intentionally making her moves seem a bit rushed, child like.

"What do you think of the outfit?" she asked in an innocent voice, spinning around, knowing full well the spin would raise her skirt high enough for him to get a glimpse of her lacy, white panties.

She looked back at him satisfied to see his eyes glued to her hips.

He scoffed as he looked back into her eyes.

"You know what I think of the outfit... Mary" he replied, pausing before saying the moniker.

Her face lit up, hearing his nickname for her.

"My name is Rory" she replied, her voice still innocent as she repeated the line she must have told him a hundred times, back in sophomore year.

"You're Mary to me" he recited his line, dutifully.

She smiled again, this time less innocent as she approached him coming to stand in front of him.

"Why is that?" she asked, her voice dropping a notch as her fingers followed the line of his suit.

He didn't answer, holding his posture in restraint as he watched her suspiciously, perhaps trying to figure out where she was heading with this game.

"I mean..." she continued, moving even closer to him "what makes you so sure...that I am, a Mary?" she finished her question, the last part quiet as she breathed it into his ear as her body slid up against him.

He closed his eyes, taking a slow deep breath as she moved her lips down his neck, not ever touching, letting her hot breath play on his skin.

"You can just tell" he said, forcing out the words, making it clear how hard it was for him to hold back at that moment.

She smirked again, as her hands traveled to his belt buckle.

"Funny" she chuckled as she smoothly unbuckled his belt.

His eyes snapped open and she could see a sea of emotions swirling in them as his breathing became fast and labored.

"Do Maries do this?" she asked, arching an eyebrow as he freed him of his pants, letting them fall to the ground, pooling at his feet "or this?" she went on, reaching into his boxers and grasping his fully erect cock.

He gasped, squeezing his eyes shut as his whole body tensed, his hand grasping her back.

He groaned an unintelligible answer and it sent her mind whirling.

"What would you have done to me?" she whispered her question and felt the hair on her back stand on ends as she heard him groan frustrated.

Her heart raced as she closed her eyes, imagining what it would have been like to be like this back then when they first met on those echoing halls.What it would have been like to have him take her first, without any restrain.

She opened her eyes to look into his, that were a deep blue with want and she saw him curse under his breath.

She waited, her breathing ragged, challenging him to take control.

He closed his eyes taking a shaky breath and his hands grasped her once again, gently pushing her down.

She obeyed, her heart once again racing, completely turned on as she got down on her knees.

She looked up, slightly arching an eyebrow as she pulled down his boxers.

His erection sprung open, only inches away from her face and her hand once again moved to grasp him, making him release a sigh.

She suddenly felt empowered, and turned on at the same time and all conscious thought seemed to leave her. She felt an incredible urge to please him, to be with him, to be wild and free and careless.

Her warm tongue darted out to lick him teasingly and she felt him tense immediately. She tasted his tart, glistening hardness and she shivered, barely able to hold back.

"Fuck, Mary" he whispered with voice cracking and she smiled enjoying her hidden fantasy coming to life.

She squeezed his base and took him in her mouth, wetting his head and immediately releasing him. She blew on the sensitive skin and he cursed again, seemingly losing his patience as she remained close to him, teasing him.

He growled, a deep growl coming from the back of his throat and she felt his hand place pressure on the back of her head, gently pushing her down onto him.

She obeyed, once again taking his length into her mouth and he moaned out load as she took in the whole of him, his cock hitting the back of her throat.

She sucked him slowly and he chocked on his breath, murmuring unintelligible words as his head fell back against the glass of the huge windows.

"So fucking hot" he whispered, barely audible as she gently pulled back, once again flicking his erection with her tongue.

She stroked him slowly a couple of times, teasing his tip with her tongue, then sucked down on him again, eternally slow and gentle.

He groaned again and she could tell he needed more as his hands once again rested on the back of her head. She felt the thrill of being able to tease him, feeling her own self control diminishing by the minute as she tasted his precum. She could barely control herself, feeling the ache between her legs become stronger and stronger, but she willed herself to wait for him to lose his patience and his control.

It didn't take long as his whole body seemed to tense once again.

"Don't fucking tease... please" he whispered desperately, his fingers running through her silky smooth hair.

She looked up with small smirk challenging him and that seemed to do it for him as he suddenly pushed her head down onto himself again, thrusting fully into her mouth.

She moaned as she felt his erection hit the back of her throat, making her swallow him completely and he cried out in pleasure, finally losing all self control.

He thrust into her mouth violently, cursing continuously. She heard his voice become more ragged as she sucked on him determinedly, making him moan and shiver.

"Fuck, Mary..." he cried, his thrusts speeding up and she felt his whole body become rigid and start to convulse.

She felt him shoot his load into her mouth as he kept thrusting, crying out in ecstasy as his tart taste filed up her mouth, pouring out and dripping down her face.

She sucked him gently, feeling him shiver as he came down from his high, his body seemingly raging as he tried to steady his erratic breathing.

She felt him grab her by her arms and lift her up to unsteady feet.

She looked into those eyes expecting to see him spent, but she gasped as she realized he was just as aroused, his eyes full of want and need.

She felt her own desire fire up as he pulled her against him, kissing her roughly, his tongue darting into and exploring her mouth.

She moaned unconsciously, letting herself be lost in his embrace. He pulled her body even closer, letting her feel his never loosening hardness against her bunched up skirt.

He said nothing as he went on to kiss her face and down her neck, his hands feeling every inch of her body as he backed her up towards the desk standing by the wall.

She felt her backside hit the table and she fell back on it, losing her balance.

She closed her eyes as she felt him feel every part of her body, his breathing fast, shallow on her skin. He felt rushed, uncontrolled, uninhibited and she realized how honest his need for her was. It overwhelmed her, the need inside of her rising by the second.

She moaned and the sound seemed to fuel his desire even more, because she felt him spin her around, her legs pushed up against the side of the desk and her chest pushed down against it.

She involuntarily spread her legs, pushing her ass into his pelvis and he groaned in a deep voice.

Her mind was going blank, her center aching for release and she sighed content, feeling his shaking hand push up her skirt and violently tear off her white lacy panties.

She felt his fingers probing her, parting her folds and slowly sliding into her and she cried out in pleasure, wanting to feel more of him down there as she pushed back against him.

He moved in haste and she suddenly felt his hardness against the back of her, stretching her entrance.

She pushed back, moaning with open mouth as she felt him slip into her with a firm thrust, filling her up completely.

He cursed as her tightness enveloped him and he started thrusting into her, his movements strong, almost violent.

His prior release seemed to lend him endurance as he rocked into her steadily from behind, sending her head spinning in a whirl of pleasure, hitting her firm and deep.

She felt herself spread out on the smooth top of the desk, his hands grasping her ass firmly as he thrust into her in a steady rhythm, inducing loud moans from her.

He cursed and called out her name, urging her to let go.

She felt her release near, as she laid sprayed out on the desk, his rock hard cock pumping in and out of her, sending her into a frenzy. She felt her breathing speed up and her whole body seemed to be on fire, the wave of her orgasm washing over her violently, making her shake for long seconds as she screamed out in pleasure.

Her sight went black as she felt her weight held up by him. She panted heavily, feeling him pull out of her.

She felt him raise her roughly, her body limp in his strong arms and he turned her around, raising her up to sit on the desk.

She felt no strength in her limbs as she forced her eyes open, seeing him still unsatisfied as he pulled her closer to the edge of the desk, positioning his throbbing erection against her swollen opening.

She felt him slide into her without hesitation, followed by a loud grunt and she thought she was going to pass out from the new assault of pleasure he managed to induce.

He thrust into her, resuming his prior rhythm, her center ravaged once again by his unappeasable need and she moaned loudly, her mind giving up trying to censor her displays of pleasure. She fell back against the wall and let him slide even deeper within her, listening to his mumbling as he pounded away.

She was instantly close again, his fast and steady movements once again sending her flying and she clung to him desperately, her nails digging into his back as she came for the second time, sobbing in pleasure.

Her insane orgasm seemed to finally send him over the edge as well, because he screamed into her ear with a final thrust, emptying deep inside of her as she fell back onto the desk, almost passing out from exhaustion and pleasure.

Silence once again seemed to envelop them as his fast, erratic breathing and her thumping heart seemed to remain the only sounds she could make out. She kept her eyes closed, not barely having enough strength to keep breathing, and she felt the thin layer of perspiration slowly evaporate from her body in that cool apartment.

She felt him move, yet could not move herself, as he slipped out of her, leaving her with a different kind of ache, one she knew in the back of her blank mind would remind her of this night even tomorrow.

She felt his arms envelop and lift her body, his muscles tensing with what probably was great effort on his part.

She still couldn't open her eyes, but she felt him take her towards the direction of the bedroom, and moments later she felt him place her down on the smooth sheets of his bed.

She sighed contently, finally managing to open her eyes, and she saw him lay beside her on the bed, his face close to hers.

His eyes seemed to be troubled and she narrowed her eyes trying to decipher his thoughts.

He brushed a strand of hair away from her face, his face lost in thought.

"What?" she said, not having the strength to formulate a more elaborate question, hoping that once again he would know just what the word referred to.

He finally met her eyes and she seemed to recognize shame.

"It wouldn't have been like this" he whispered.

She furrowed her brows, not understanding, but her heart seemed to have figured it out, because it started beating faster again.

He moved slightly closer, as if telling a secret, his fingers once again caressing imaginary stands of hair away from her face.

"You would have deserved so much more than just this" he mouthed, barely audible, the confession lingering in the air as their eyes met.

She felt like herself again, the fantasy gone, the need to be someone else, to experience something else gone. At this moment there was only her and him, finally.

She felt an incredible urge to cry, his words somehow shooting straight to her heart, but instead she moved closer, her lips gently touching his. She felt him sigh as if he'd been holding back in anticipation, and she kissed him, their mouths moving gently in an intimate act for the first time in such a long time.

She opened her eyes to look at him and he squeezed his shut, as if trying to block tears, even though she knew he never cried.

She felt his hands snake in her hair as he rested his forehead against hers.

"I missed you" she whispered, suddenly not afraid of saying what she felt.

His face contorted, hearing those words and he smiled a wry smile, eyes still squeezed shut.

"God, I miss you" he replied, the change of grammar not going unnoticed by her.

He wrapped strong arms around her and pulled her closer as he shifted, her head coming to rest on his chest as a hand kept caressing her hair.

She felt her whole body relax, feeling his warmth and his beating heart beneath her face, the sound inexplicably mesmerizing and occupying her thoughts.

Those sounds felt so reassuring, so familiar, so true.

She wondered if she could hear braveness in the steady and serious thuds, she wondered if you could tell by the sound what a heart wants or how it aches. The peculiarity of the theory made her smile, knowing she must be drifting off to sleep, but she kept wondering anyway, holding her breath to decipher the meaning, until unconsciousness finally won over her.


	12. Beast of burden

He woke to the quiet of the apartment, feeling unexpectedly bright sunlight warming the room. He stretched his muscles, his long arms spreading out on the smooth sheets of his bed. His fingers traveled without unwanted resistance as he blinked himself to alertness.

He felt surprisingly rested, calm, like he had slept for days, and the brightness made him realize that he did sleep for a long time, failing to wake up to his internal alarm clock.

The word 'ironic' was his first conscious thought, it was after all the first time in a long time he did not wake up at the crack of dawn.

He turned around to lay on his back, studying the lines of his ceiling as consciousness slowly flooded his brain. There was a solemn feeling rising inside of him, as his thoughts cleared and yesterday's memories registered in his brain one by one. Memories of mostly her. Despite his incredible need finally satisfied, he couldn't quite say his torture of missing her nearness evaporated. If only, the void was even more noticeable, every memory of last night protesting in his head. He met them with a surprising calmness, lacking any irrationality. As if all had been decided for him long ago, and no amount of trying and fighting would make any difference.

'Predestination is the easy way out' he thought to himself with a wry smile. Yet the thought of rising from his bed seemed unbelievably hard.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, launching himself out of his confines, the air strangely warm around his naked body.

He found some boxers and a t-shirt to put on, happy to be able to occupy himself with something as he made his way out of his bedroom.

Silence speaks volumes, and he suddenly felt like his apartment had a soul of its own, apologetically commanding it's every object to present it's owner with the silence his state, his life, his destiny deserved.

He stumbled into the kitchen, managing to finish putting on his shirt.

Her quiet, shy stare stopped him dead in his tracks.

She sat on a bar stool, like a vision, white, creamy legs barely cowered by the shirt she was wearing. His shirt from yesterday, he noticed.

The makeup was gone, the hair tussled and flowing every which way, her skin wonderfully pale, and her eyes... as always... deep, blue and heartbreaking.

Breathing seemed a great effort at that moment, as he leaned against the doorway of the kitchen, taken aback by her sight.

She was there. Squirming uncomfortably under his gaze, the epicenter of the silence of his apartment, and suddenly it didn't feel like silence, it felt like a humble worship, a home yielding to its goddess, to its queen.

He smirked at the unbelievably cheesy metaphor and she must have taken it as a greeting because she smiled back shyly, dropping her gaze nervously as she fiddled with the edge of the shirt she was wearing.

These moments of innocence that she still shone sometimes, buried under years of growing up, of experience and of loss reminded him of how she used to be, of what she used to mean to him back before he even knew anything about her. It made his smile grow fonder, truer, and for the first time in such a long time he found himself looking at her without hurt, without dismay.

He moved to take the seat across from her, not able to take his eyes off of her.

She was there.

The thought seemed to bounce around in his head without him daring to analyze the meaning.

"You must have been tired" she spoke, still not looking at him "I can't remember you ever sleeping so much".

He noticed a blush and the fact that she still had not looked up, as if afraid of what his reaction would be.

"You've been up long?" he asked, surprised by how calm his voice sounded despite the vibrating joy inside of him.

She shrugged and smiled again, glancing up at him as he kept staring, unable to do anything.

She dropped her gaze again nervously.

He found himself wanting to stare at her, to sit in that kitchen, the silence enveloping them, without questions, without plans, without the issues that threatened to make themselves known by surfacing in their conversation. He wanted a break from desperately wanting her, he wanted a break of having her there.

She looked up, her eyes curious and he knew the moment was gone. Keeping Rory in silence would be like keeping butterflies on pins.

"You don't have any coffee" she noted shyly, a small blush forming on her face.

He smirked with recognition, remembering the time he tossed all remnants of the stuff out into the garbage, banishing even the memory of the liquid from his home.

"Yeah, I guess I forgot to fill up" he replied and noted her eyes narrowing for a half of second, a sure sign of her catching his lie. She dropped her eyes to the floor again, her face becoming serious and for a second he felt ashamed.

"It reminded you of me?" came her question and his breathing caught in his chest, not used to the directness. She was always more for careful dancing around the subject rather than the tough hitting questions.

He took a deep breath and nodded. There was no point to deny.

"I thew out my weights" she shrugged, referring to the objects that if he remembered correctly, were never in heavy use when it came to Rory.

He chuckled and found the spot she was fixated on with his own eyes, silence once again taking over.

It could have felt awkward, the whole moment, but somehow the possibility of the situation, the hope still flickering inside of him despite all he'd gone through, made it feel bearable, nice even.

She was there. As a sign, as an offer, as a great effort on her part, he was sure. But there. It had to mean something.

It meant everything.

"You hungry?" he asked, rising quickly from his chair, energy suddenly bursting in his body. He didn't wait for an answer, obvious as it was. He felt some weird drive to activate himself, as if his body were ordering him to burn all the giddiness threatening to totally take over his senses.

He moved to the refrigerator, taking out ingredients, his arms moving automatically, taking out dishes and knives, cutting and chopping. As if occupying himself would quiet his mind's buzzing thoughts.

He was acutely aware of her presence, despite forcing himself not to look back at her. He focused on his task instead, content with the thought that she was there.

Her arms snaking around his torso threw that plan to the wind.

Suddenly, the onions on the hot oil were unimportant, because there was a fire burning more hot inside of him, there was a pull of gravity and a force of nature taking over thoughts and plans he might have made.

She clung to him, and her body seemed so familiar, so warm, so true. It felt like his heart calmed to its proper pace, finally, finally, after an endlessly long time. It felt like his body finally found rest, his cells calming, his muscles relaxing, a long breath finally leaving his body that he seemed to have been holding for days, weeks, months perhaps.

How could she be so gentle, he wondered as he closed his eyes, easing into her hold, how could she be so naively sweet, when no woman had ever managed to destroy him like she had.

He felt her head rest against his back, the silkiness of her hair tickling his arms and a thousand memories seemed to rush him, his senses greeting the familiarity.

"What are you making?" she asked, casually, the awkwardness and shyness seemingly gone.

He focused back on the onions close to burning by now.

"Omelet" he replied, as if there was anything else to make from eggs and vegetables in a hot pan.

He smirked as he heard her respond with a good natured 'oooh', slipping from his body and reclaiming her place by the kitchen table.

"Don't forget the bacon" she said matter of factly "and the cheese" she added.

"I wouldn't dare make a healthy omelet" he murmured. turning back to the sizzling pan with his smirk in place.

He worked efficiently, focusing on perfecting the dish, and he thought about the dilemma he felt about her. How when she wasn't there, all he could think about was looking at her, of studying her every part, of staring, of devouring. But now that she was, like always, he tried his hardest not to look at her, settling instead of sensing her with every other sense he could. Even now, he could tell she was sitting on that stool, with bare legs crossed, fingers tracing imaginary lines on the top of the table, her eyes studying his actions in quiet wonder.

He knew this sight, he'd seen it, so many times. And perhaps not looking at her was protection, in case she wasn't like she used to be during their years together.

He finished preparing the food, placing it gently on a plate and placing it in front of her as he sat across form her once again.

"Wow" she said staring at the plate and he was reminded of the time he first dazzled her with his cooking abilities, earning him a weekend of grateful sex.

He smirked, partly at the memory and partly at her childish amazement whenever presented with food.

"Eat up" he nudged her gently and watched as she obeyed, hungrily.

He had not started on his own food, taking the chance instead to watch her as she occupied herself with the process of stuffing her face. He missed this, watching her succumb to her favorite pastime, unceremoniously indulging in the food he prepared so carefully. He found himself smiling once again.

"What are you doing today?" he asked quietly, as he started to pick on his own food.

She frowned, groaning.

"I have an assignment" she replied full-mouthed, her face suddenly void of the glow she seemed to possess all morning.

He studied her quietly, wondering about whether the lack of joy she seemed to show towards her work had been there for a long time now. If this too had been something he failed to notice while living beside her, living with her.

"What is it?" he asked intrigued by the whole question, wanting to understand how the change took place in front of his eyes, without him ever realizing.

"It's a story I've been covering. I am interviewing this guy about a merge between Yahoo and this small internet company" she explained vaguely, gesturing with her free hand and it was hard not to ignore the lack of enthusiasm.

"Sounds interesting" he said and he wondered if the worry in his voice was evident to her as well.

She didn't seem to notice as he eyes drifted off into the distance.

"Yeah..." she murmured.

She sighed, turning back to the plate of half finished food.

"What are you doing?" she asked him and he noticed her desire to drop the subject.

He picked at his food again.

"There is always work" he stated and she looked up at him, concern showing in her eyes.

"You've been working a lot" she said, her voice careful, quiet.

He looked back at her, his gaze meeting hers, ignoring a strong urge to be reproachful.

But there was no sense in that, no sense in saying 'What else could I spend my time doing?', he learned that by now.

She seemed to sense it anyway, because she dropped her gaze back to her plate.

There was silence again, awkward this time and he felt his chest tighten.

"When is your meeting?" he said, rising from his seat as he took his plate of barely touched food, placing it on the counter.

"Noon" she replied as she took the last bite of her food.

He took her empty plate, busying himself with the cleanup and he suddenly felt their old familiar heaviness return. As if the ghosts and heavy feelings finally found them in that elegant apartment after having searched the whole city for them. His giddiness slowly evaporated and he had a hard time avoiding the questions racing in his head.

He felt a strange feeling of failure, of loss. He had a fixed idea that she would be gone by the time he finished with washing the dishes, that the kitchen would be empty and her body gone, vanishing into thin air without leaving any trace. Perhaps it would have been easier because by now he was used to that, used to accepting her disappearance. What he wasn't used to was facing consequences, of wondering about how they are going to part, of how it's going to be, of how this will work.

The quiet panic he must have exuded reached Rory too.

"Tristan" he said, his name sounding like a prayer from her mouth and he dropped the dish in his hand, the clatter as it hit the sink echoing in the sudden quiet of the kitchen.

He sighed, closing his eyes, resting his weight on his hands.

He felt her arm tug at his t-shirt and he let her turn him around, slowly opening his eyes.

"Hey" she whispered and he recognized his desperation, his doubtfulness echoing in her own gaze.

She moved closer, rising to her tiptoes as his hands unconsciously snaked around her.

He closed his eyes as her soft lips met his and he let her kiss him gently, his body bursting into quiet flames as her lips lingered on his.

She rested her forehead against his and he held her quietly, trying to steady his disbelief, her closeness calming his racing thoughts.

It felt heartbreaking, the way she seemed to want to hold onto him, seemed to want to tilt the scale back to their side, to make things feel more comfortable and not so impossibly doomed.

He sighed, wishing it would be so simple. That you could make a situation seem hopeful just by sheer will of faith.

Saturdays were not made for work" he whispered in mock grimness, trying to lighten the mood and she chuckled lightly, seemingly happy to overcome the awkwardness.

"Poor baby's gotta hit the office" she teased and he raised an eyebrow.

"I am more sorry for you" he said smugly and she furrowed her brows questioningly.

"You gotta interview a CEO in a naughty schoolgirl uniform" he stated with a smirk.

"I am going home to change" she informed him, trying to break away from his hold as if to make her point.

"You wish" he replied with a smirk as he pulled her back "you don't have time to go home to change"

"What are you talking about, it's not even ten" she replied uneasily, once again trying to escape his strong hold.

He lowered his face to her neck, starting to kiss the soft skin gently.

"Your point being?" he murmured, satisfied to feel her shiver and release a sigh.

"Tristan" she warned him playfully.

"What? I cooked breakfast" he deadpanned and she laughed as she pushed herself off of him.

He watched with a smile as she walked out of the kitchen chuckling quietly.

He leaned back against the counter, watching her departing form and he sighed. His uneasy feelings were not gone, despite him having managed to lighten the heavy mood of the morning.

Truth was he had no idea what was going to happen. But he didn't feel ready to know. Uncertainty, as heavy as it was for him to get used to, had become his companion that he learned to accept.

He looked up, seeing her lean against the doorway of his kitchen, clad in her uniform that even with his shirt on top for more coverage, seemed wildly inappropriate for a serious reporter.

He couldn't help but smirk and she gave him a playfully scolding look.

"Can I see you later?" she asked shyly and he had to make sure he heard her right, studying her face tingled with a soft blush.

He resisted an urge to nod enthusiastically, partly, because the uneasiness in his chest turned into the old familiar ache as her impending departure became apparent.

He thought about his answer wiping his hands with the washcloth and his solemn face must have sent her into another set of panic, because she turned around nervously.

"Unless if you're busy" she mumbled, taking a step out of the kitchen.

"Call me when you're done" he replied calmly, despite himself, and watched as she spun around, not able to hide a budding smile on her face.

"Okay" she mouthed and he dropped his gaze again nervously, not quite knowing how her leaving is going to go down.

Occupying himself with the washcloth again, he sensed her come closer slowly, the smile widening on her face.

"You'll be at the office?" she asked quietly as she came to stop in front of him.

He nodded as he tossed the washcloth aside and suddenly pulled her even closer, smiling at her yelp of surprise. His hands rested on her hips and he watched with a content smirk as her breathing sped up slightly, her arms snaking around his neck.

He stared at her mouth, licking his own and watched her eyes flutter shut, goosebumps rapidly forming on her skin.

His attempt to kiss her goodbye suddenly turned into wanting her incredibly, her apparent arousal waking his own.

The temperature seemed to rise noticeably as he pulled her even closer to his hips, letting her feel his arousal and she exhaled heavily, her eyes still closed and her mouth expectant.

He moved closer, letting his breath play on her face, but leaving her hanging for long seconds.

When his lips finally reached hers, she opened up to him instantly, his tongue slipping into her mouth as she responded with a moan, sending his head spinning. He pulled her flush against him, his hands roaming her body, and slipping under her impossibly short skirt.

His mouth broke away from hers, moving to suck on her neck and her soft moans made him go wild with want.

He cursed quietly, needing more friction and he lifted her up, spinning them around to lift her to sit on the counter, her legs going around his waist. He ground into her and she gasped.

He felt like his whole body was on fire, blood thumping through his vessels, his fingers shaking as he freed her of his shirt.

"I'm going to be so late" she sighed breathless, her voice full of desire as his fingers unhooked her bra, his lips seeking out a taut nipple that he sucked into his mouth eliciting a hiss from her.

"Yahoo can wait" he replied as his mouth moved on to the other nipple and his hands disappeared under her skirt, his fingers tugging at her panties. He heard her chuckle and she lifted her hips giving him room to finish his task, tossing the white panties aside.

His fingers inched up her inner thighs and she parted her legs for him, letting him reach her center.

He kissed her again, groaning into her mouth as his fingers slipped inside of her warm wetness.

"Fuck, Rory" he cursed again, his mind instantly fogged by the way her slick wetness felt.

He pushed his fingers into her gently a couple of times and she moaned in response, making him take a shaky breath. He pulled out of her, momentarily breaking away to push his boxers down and throw his shirt off, standing in front of her completely naked. He noted contently that her eyes traveled down his body, coming to focus on his throbbing erection. He moved back between her legs and he braced himself against the counter as his hands went under her bare bottom, lifting her up slightly, his erection pressing up against her entrance.

He forced his eyes open, watching her flushed face as he pushed inside of her, her tight walls clenching around his member, draining him with sweet wetness. His eyes rolled back at the sensation and he thought he might cum right there and then, she felt so tight and warm as he slid in all the way. He paused for a moment, steadying his breathing and inhaling her sweet scent.

He took a deep breath and swiftly pulled out, thrusting right back into her. She moaned with pleasure, her head falling back against the cabinet, and he saw a chill run across her skin, his senses threatening to overload. He thrust into her again, groaning as she moaned and wrapped her legs even more tightly around him.

"Oh god, Tristan" she moaned and it was all he could do to hold back. He thrust into her again, going as deep as he could, setting a steady rhythm, making her breasts bounce slightly and his whole body tittering near the edge.

"You are so beautiful" he whispered into her ear "so fucking beautiful".

She whimpered in return, her arms clinging onto him as he pounded into her.

"Deeper" she breathed and he groaned hearing her request, his last ounce of self control snapping as his muscles tensed.

He pushed into her violently, a loud cry of pleasure and pain breaking from her lips.

"Yesss" she urged him on, her words becoming muffled and he sped up, feeling her wetness seeping down his own leg.

His whole body started to tingle and he felt the insane tension in his lower abdomen slowly spread towards his erection that was pounding mercilessly into her.

"God baby, I'm gonna cum" he whispered into her ear and that seemed to push her over the edge, because her whole body tensed and she screamed, her walls clamping around him as she convulsed, her moaning ringing in his ear.

He screamed himself, letting go with one final thrust, his orgasm exploding withing her as she still writhed in pleasure beneath him. He felt his whole body shake, his muscles threatening to tear as the incredible wave of pleasure reached every last inch of his body.

He collapsed against her, trying desperately to catch his breath. He felt weak, unable to move and all he could smell and feel was her, her slick wetness combined with his, their warm bodies glued together.

He supported himself on his shaking arms, his breathing still erratic as he opened his eyes to stare at her disheveled appearance. Her eyes were shut tightly, her face flushed, her chest still heaving, the bunched up plaid miniskirt the only article of clothing remaining on her. She was absolutely gorgeous.

He kissed her gently, the strength still not quite back in his body and she smiled as she accepted his lips. Her skin felt incredibly soft and smooth and his fingers couldn't seem to get enough of it, roaming her body continuously.

Her smoothness, her warmness, their closeness brought back memories and he couldn't help not notice that this was the first time in such a long while that their lovemaking left him without any sense of guilt or desperation. Even with all the uncertainty surrounding them, his chest finally felt light.

He looked at her again, brushing away the stray curls from her face. He pulled out of her with a quiet curse and moved closer to her body, enjoying the feel of her smooth arms wrapping around his back.

"Well, Ya-hoo" he murmured into her neck suggestively and she giggled, the sound penetrating into his body as he held her close against his chest.


	13. You got the love

She walked through the darkened offices, seeing the light on in his. She stopped in the doorway, leaning against the door frame to watch him concentrate over a document he was reading.

He looked out of place in the office, clad in jeans and a thin blue sweater, but his concentration, his serious determination shone through and she smiled studying him.

"Is he going to get off easy?" she asked, smiling.

He looked up, obviously confused as he stared at her.

"The case you're working on" she clarified as she pushed herself off the doorway, taking slow steps towards him.

He looked back at the papers spilled all over his desk and sighed thinking about his answer.

"It's not a guy. It's a multinational corporation" he elaborated with a smug smile.

She smiled walking up towards his desk mouthing a good-natured "oooh".

"But yes, they are going to get off easily" he went on, leaning back in his chair to watch her approach.

She sat down across from him, placing her bag on the floor, feeling slightly out of place in the sleek office.

"Well, as long as they are not causing cancer in little kids" she shrugged and stopped mid-motion when his face grew solemn.

"Oh my god, they are causing cancer in little kids?" Rory asked, panic rushing her.

He smirked a second later and relief washed over her.

"No, they're just tax cheaters" he reassured her, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Oh, okay, that's good" she replied and watched as he laughed wholeheartedly.

It reminded her of the way he was as a child. Because he was just that when they first met, not that he liked to admit. He had these carefree moments back then, much more often than now. She wondered sometimes if he would have grown up to be someone with more moments like this had he not been raised in such a cold family, had he not been sent away, had he not have had his heart broken by her. She sighed, suddenly feeling uneasy.

"How was your interview?" he asked, studying her face, his voice nonchalant.

Her mood grew wearier, remembering her meeting from before. It went well enough, but she somehow felt like it was just a charade. That's how she felt for a long time now actually.

Through years and years of experience and working at and for different papers, she learned how this all went down. Learned how to operate with subjects, how to write an article. It became second nature to her, the whole process. She felt like she could do it on auto-pilot. But that made her feel guilty. She couldn't quite grasp it, but she felt like she should put more effort into her work. Even if all she ever got was rave reviews, she felt like she was cheating the world, because she could have done all this with more passion, more dedication, how she used to back when she started out. She felt like she was imitating dedication. And even if it was a good imitation, it didn't feel true.

"It was okay" she said, snapping out of her reverie. Denying these thoughts became second nature to her by now.

She didn't look up, somehow her guilt now superimposed towards Tristan.

"You need time to write it up?" he asked her and she noticed how his tone was gentle, contemplative.

"No" she shrugged "I'll just do it later".

She finally looked at him, the silence in the office making her curious.

He was studying her with a quiet calmness and she felt a blush on her face, under his scrutiny.

"You got a lot to do here still?" she tried to change the subject, looking around self consciously.

"No, not really" he replied calmly.

"I don't want to interrupt your work" she said.

"Alright" he replied smirking, mocking her.

She blushed again, taking a shaky breath.

He suddenly rose form his seat grabbing his coat off the back of his chair.

"Let's go" he said, nonchalantly moving towards the exit.

Rory looked after him shocked.

"I can give you a couple of minutes, if you..." she motioned to the mess of papers on his desk, but he was already out the door.

"Move your butt, Gilmore" she heard his voice and she sighed rolling her eyes.

She grabbed her stuff and walked after him, catching up to him by the elevator that just opened with a ding.

She followed him inside, sighing as she leaned against the wall.

"Are you sure?" she asked quietly, feeling guilty for showing up and interrupting his work.

He studied her for a couple of seconds, the ever present smirk on his face, then stepped closer to her, suddenly catching her off guard.

Her heart started to race realizing they had not yet greeted each other.

"I'm sure" he whispered, closing the gap between them, his soft lips finding hers. She closed her eyes relieved as she felt him kiss her gently, his arms snaking around her waist, puling her close against his body.

It was easy to get lost in his kisses. Easy to not think about anything else. Easy to be pulled in again and again, the rest of the world melting away as his tongue swept inside her mouth, tasting her with a quiet dedication.

She heard someone clear his throat and she pulled away from the kiss to see a janitor standing in front of the elevator's open doors. She realized they had probably reached the ground floor seconds ago. She murmured an apology and felt her face blush, but Tristan just smirked, taking her hand in his as he walked passed the amused worker.

He pulled her after him as he stepped out of the building, an unusual warm rush of winds swirling past them. It was strangely mild out, despite the season. She looked up at the sky, the evening clouds rolling in over the city. She could already smell the rain, yet the air was still warm, humid, the way it is in stormy summer evenings and she suddenly felt a feeling of nostalgia.

He turned to her, his face still amused.

"Hey" he said, his voice smug as he stepped closer, his fingers reaching up to tuck her loose strands of hair behind her ears, even if the wind wouldn't allow them to stay in place.

She felt his warmness, his calmness, his confident presence and she couldn't help but smile.

"Hey" she replied, biting back a smile.

"You hungry?" he asked, his grin signaling he already knew the answer.

"Yeah" she murmured and he chuckled, once again taking her hand to lead her to whatever destination he already had in mind.

"The meeting was at a bio-restaurant" she huffed, partly to explain herself and partly to express her disgust at the fact that such places existed.

She walked obediently as he lead her, her steps quick to be able to keep up with his long, graceful walk.

"A bio-restaurant?" he asked, his voice amused as he pulled her after himself.

"Yeah, everything in it is unprocessed or something" she deadpanned.

"Hmm" he played along.

"If I want unprocessed food, I go to a marketplace" she quipped, raising her voice slightly for him to be able to hear over the traffic noise, "if I want to have lunch..."

"You want some killed animals" he cut her off, his words cynical.

"Yeah...well, no... but a burger would be nice" she replied hurt, looking both ways before they crossed the street.

"We'll get you a burger" he smiled.

"You better" she murmured concentrating on avoiding a puddle.

"So he was a health nut?" he asked nonchalantly.

Rory furrowed her eyebrows, not understanding. She turned her head to study his face as he kept walking pulling her along with him.

"Who? The guy?" she shrugged trying to recall her subject "yeah, I guess... Which is funny, considering he is a dot-com nerd".

"He was a nerd?" he asked amused, as he steered past the people on the busy sidewalks.

"Well, not really. It's the 'disguised nerd' type" she explained, her voice totally serious.

"The 'disguised nerd'? What is that?" he asked with a chuckle as he looked back at her.

"Oh come on, it's the type of kid who is all buff and a health freak and into bio-food and exercise, and the latest metrosexual trends and all, but deep down, he is just a sad little nerd who spent one too many nights in college in front of his computer developing something silly that unbelievably turned into an internet success that he can now sell off to some huge corporation and live off the money for the rest of his life á la Mark Zuckerberg"

"Who is Zuckerberg?" he interrupted her rant.

"The Facebook guy" she replied.

"Oh right. He a closeted nerd too?" he asked, his voice close to cracking up.

"I don't know, he might just be" she replied with mock snobbery.

"I still don't get your problem with them. They had a good idea, they sold it for a lot of money. Good for them" he shrugged.

"Too bad he won't get to enjoy it, because he'll be too busy worrying about counting calories and checking labels to see if anyone dared to process his milk" she continued her rant, which had become a tad bit hostile and she realized he was staring at her with an even more amused expression as they waited for the light to change to walk on the corner.

"What?" she asked uneasily.

"I really need to get you that burger" he replied with mock concern and she rolled her eyes pulling him along as the light changed.

They crossed the street and she once again felt him take the lead protectively, slaloming carefully in the crowd.

She recognized the direction they were heading towards and soon she saw the small burger place that seemed to be hidden from the crowds. It was still a New York City restaurant, with dimly lit rooms and black and white photographs lining the walls, but it was quiet too, with red leather booths and old fashioned menus that she knew by heart.

He opened the door and walked in, pulling her after himself and she chuckled.

"What?" he asked her, furrowing his brows as he helped her take her coat off.

"You are always opening car doors, and helping off jackets, and rising from the table when someone stands up" she rambled as she watched him, his face still confused "but you never let me enter a restaurant first. Isn't that in the etiquette?"

He smiled, finally catching her drift.

"Actually" he said as he pulled out a chair for her raising an eyebrow to emphasize his gesture "you never know if there is a brawl going on or not when you enter a place, so one should not let a lady enter an unknown premise first. Flying chairs are very dangerous."

"Ohhh" she said amused "I understand now. Who taught you this very useful information?"

His amused face suddenly turned serious and she watched him glance towards the waiter as if trying to occupy himself.

"My grandfather" he replied, quietly, motioning to the waiter, perhaps so they wouldn't have to sit in the uncomfortable silence that ensued.

Rory's mood dropped, remembering his loss that he had to endure soon after he left for military school. The old man was the only one in his family he seemed to ever feel a connection to and his sudden death sent him into an emotional withdrawal that she still felt the effects of, years later, when they met.

"Well, he was right" she said, forcing her voice to be cheerful "I'll take precaution over etiquette any day"

She took his hand and he looked back at her, forcing out a thankful smile.

The waiter arrived and he ordered immediately, giving him her usual list without having to ask her about it, extra bacon and cheese included.

She watched him with an amused smile as he finished the order, finally looking back over at her as the waiter left for the kitchen.

"Did I get everything right?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Yeah, should be enough for starters" she replied with a mock sigh.

He rolled his eyes and moved closer, leaning over the table to play with her fingers.

"So..." he started, his voice calm "why is he selling?"

She furrowed her eyes confused, not understanding.

"Oh" she said, realizing what he was talking about "I don't know" she shrugged.

"Isn't it his work of labor? Must be hard to sell it off to a big bad corporate" he asked, his eyes shining with a genuine interest. It made her feel strange. She pulled back, suddenly feeling uneasy.

"He is getting a lot of money for it" she shrugged "he seems happy to do it"

"Wasn't he making a lot of money from it before?" he went on and she studied his face wondering why he was pursuing the subject.

"He is moving to Florida, he says it's convenient to sell" she replied, glancing towards the kitchen.

"How come?" he asked and she sighed annoyed.

"Uhm..., he is... he's getting married to his girlfriend and she got a dreamjob or something there" she replied, her voice getting inpatient "it's taking them a lot longer tonight to serve, don't you think?" she asked, once again glancing at the kitchen.

She turned back to see his face contemplative.

"So he is giving up his own dream for his girlfriend's?" he asked quietly.

She looked at him, her face stern.

"Why does this interest you so much?" she snapped wiping her eyes frustrated.

He leaned back in his chair, taking a long breath.

"It doesn't. I'm just trying to have a conversation about your day" he said calmly.

"Well, it wasn't interesting. It's a cliché really. Dot-com nerd selling off his company to a giant after he made a buttload of money off the whirlwind success of his college creation" she replied, her voice slightly annoyed.

"Except the part about him giving this up for his girlfriend" he pointed out quietly and Rory felt a pang of guilt pierce through her.

"What are you implying?" she asked, her face serious.

"I am not implying anything" he chuckled "I'm just saying it should be an interesting angle on this"

She sighed, feeling a headache coming on and she rubbed her temples.

"Let's not talk about work anymore" she sighed, relieved when the waiter placed their plates on the table.

"Hmm, looks great" she forced out a smile as she dug in, feeling his eyes bore into her.

She noted out of the corner of her eyes that he had not started on his food, studying her instead, the way he always did when he was trying to figure her out. It left her feeling uneasy and annoyed. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing to figure out, nothing out of the ordinary, except that it was a Saturday that she once again had to spend working.

She swallowed a huge bite of her food, taking her anger out on the innocent burger.

She ate in silence, relieved when he finally took his own food into his hands, taking a bite from the burger.

She sneaked a peak at him, chewing down on his food with a calm precision that he always seemed to posses no matter what he was doing. He ate silently, slowly and she sensed the uncomfortable silence settle in around them.

"I'm sorry" she said, putting down her food and wiping her mouth with a napkin "but it just seems you are trying to make me feel guilty or something" she said, her voice slightly hurt.

"About what?" he said, his voice serious, his eyes questioning.

She stared at his eyes, blue and shining, confusion playing in them. His eyes looked like the way the weather felt tonight, warning, but strangely exciting at the same time, She felt tempted to wait out the break of the storm, but she suddenly felt uncertain about her own grounds. She suddenly felt silly.

"About your work?" he asked, his voice slightly incredulous.

She sighed, annoyed.

"No... about the fact that I don't appreciate this guy's heroic self sacrifice" she huffed.

He narrowed his eyes.

"I was just simply trying to point out that there was a story there, that it wasn't just the cliché turn of events that you referred to" he explained, his voice getting defensive.

"You were trying to point out that I don't appreciate sacrifice for the one you love" she barked back.

She immediately regretted her comment when she saw his face change. From a look of confusion to a sudden realization. He scoffed, smiling wryly as he dropped his food and leaned back in his chair to study her face.

She felt herself blush, realizing that it was probably not what he was aiming at at all. She dropped her eyes nervously, cursing herself for giving him ideas.

"Why do you think I was trying to point that out, Rory?" came the inevitable question, and she could practically hear the condescendence in his tone, his words, his use of her name. He might as well have called her Mary.

She felt an incredible urge to push her chair back, stand up and storm out, but she knew it would only make her look more childish.

So she stayed instead, her eyes fixed on a spot on the table, stubbornly waiting his cruel dig.

"I wasn't" he said and the tone surprised her. It was apologetic, calming, concerned "I was just trying to understand why you felt so aggravated by this story".

She sighed, feeling like she didn't deserve his concern.

"You just seem so unattached and so unmotivated, and I remember a time you would have been up at six AM to do research for a story like this and then would be holed up in your room till the next day typing up the story as soon as you got back from the interview" he went on, his voice soothing, despite the fact that the things he said drove right into her heart.

She sighed, feeling her eyes stinging and the back of her throat tightening as she listened to his words.

She felt his hand take hers and she closed her eyes trying to hold back the tears she felt coming.

"Is this just the story or is this something more?" he asked.

She sighed, blinking a couple of times, trying to regain her composure.

"I don't know" she whispered.

She really didn't. It would have been devastating to admit that she felt like this about every story. It was in fact safer to hope that this story seemed to repulse her for some unknown reason. But in the back of her mind, she wasn't sure.

"Why did you think that I was trying to say that you don't appreciate sacrifice?" he asked, his voice so quiet she hardly even heard, but somehow the question seemed to be as intruding as the loudest explosion.

She looked up at him and she felt her guilt wash over herself like a tidal wave. His beautiful, deep blue eyes focused on hers made her feel unworthy and cruel and she felt numb, opening her mouth but not finding any words to express herself.

"Because you would have every right to" she finally managed, her voice small, weak.

He looked at her stunned as she dropped her gaze again, unable to look at him anymore. She felt like she was shrinking, like the world around her finally won and managed to break down her walls, flooding her carefully built contrivance, the waves of destruction washing her soul clean and aimless.

"That's not true" she heard him say as he reached out to hold her hands in his "Mary, you know that's not true" he went on and his endearment finally made her tears fall, her sight blurred as she sensed him move out of his chair and pulling her out of her own.

He grabbed her coat and threw some bills on the table, pulling her out of the restaurant and she obeyed, dragging herself as her tears streamed down her face.

She felt the cool night air hit her face as they stepped out onto the sidewalk and he pulled her into a strong hug, his hands caressing her hair as he whispered into her ear.

"Baby...come on... look at me" he hushed her, his voice eternally gentle.

She looked up at him and he smiled encouragingly.

"It doesn't matter anymore, okay? Nothing matters. Don't cry, please" he whispered, his words barely audible. The murmuring seemed to calm her down, like a master's commands to the ravaging beast.

"It's going to be alright, we'll figure it out, we'll figure it all out" he repeated and pulled her close again, his warmness a protective shield as she melted into his hold.

They stood there for long seconds and she suddenly felt raindrops hitting them. They looked up and she sighed, seeing the rain once again taking over the city.

"God, it really is 40 rainy days, huh?" he chuckled and she smiled, covering herself in his arms again.

He waved down a cab and gently guided her into the back, giving directions to the driver as he pulled her close.

She closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of his embrace and she wondered how she ever thought she could be without this, without his gentle touch, his calm kindness, his eternal optimism.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

She woke up to the thunder breaking outside and she rubbed her eyes in confusion, the lightning illuminating the room for long seconds. She looked around, noting that his side of the bed was empty.

She listened to the silence of his apartment trying to figure out whether he'd just left for the bathroom or if he'd gone to watch TV, like he usually did when he couldn't sleep at night.

She could make out no noises coming from anywhere.

She carefully slipped out of bed, her bare feet quietly hitting the hardwood floor, her movements unsteady, drowsy.

She walked out into the living room and stopped, seeing his figure standing in front of the large windows. He was looking out over the sleeping city that was bathed in the steady downpour of rain. A bolt of lightning illuminated his form, his strong chest bare as he stood in his boxers.

She shivered unconsciously, seeing the quiet concentration on his face. She wondered what he could be thinking about. His solemn demeanor left her feeling uneasy.

"Tristan?" she called out, careful not to startle him.

He turned around to look at her and she felt her heart race as she saw his eyes, clouded over with worry.

She moved slowly towards him as he turned back to stare out the window, finally coming to rest next to him, folding her arms protectively in front of her chest as she once again shivered in the cold air.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked, worry present in her voice.

"The storm was really loud" he offered as an explanation.

Somehow she felt that it wasn't the whole story though. She contemplated in silence whether to question him further.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, her heartbeat speeding up as she held her breath to hear his answer.

He sighed and continued to stare out the window.

"Tris" she nudged him gently.

He sighed again as if contemplating whether to talk to her or not.

"Why would you say that I think you didn't appreciate sacrifice?" he asked, turning to her, his eyes shining with a strange determination.

Rory felt confused.

"Didn't we have this conversation already?" she murmured.

"It didn't occur to me then..." he said, his face in a confused frown.

"What?" she asked, uncertainty rushing her.

"That you did make sacrifices for me" he replied.

Rory stared at him confused, not understanding where he was going with this.

"You gave up on Brussels" he went on, his eyes boring into hers.

"Tristan" she pleaded "that's... that's not true... I'm not sure I wanted that at all..."

His voice cut her off.

"The one you didn't make sacrifices for..." he said and her breath caught in her chest, shocked at what she was hearing.

"Was Logan" he finished, his voice slightly surprised.

"What?" she whispered, searching his eyes to try to understand.

"He gave you an ultimatum and you thought it wasn't worth the sacrifice" he pondered aloud.

She felt the anger starting to boil deep in her abdomen.

"Why are we talking about this?" she asked, her voice trembling with emotions.

"Rory" he looked at her, his voice strong, determined "where you afraid I would give you an ultimatum? That you would have to chose again?"

"What?" she scoffed annoyed.

"Did you think me proposing to you was an ultimatum?" he went on.

"No" she replied immediately, shaking her head to emphasize the answer "Where is all this coming from?"

"I suddenly had this idea that you were trying to prevent your life from repeating itself. So you tried dreadfully to do it differently this time around. Only it... didn't turn out any better." he wondered out aloud.

"This is ridiculous. Why are saying this?" she asked him, not wanting to accept his theory.

"I am trying to figure out what happened" he replied, his words slow, careful.

"Well stop!" she burst out, her words heavy with emotions "I told you what happened. We talked about what happened. There isn't anything more to say."

"It doesn't make sense to me" he shook his head.

"Well maybe it's not supposed to" she shot back "maybe I am allowed to have one irrational period in my perfectly stable life!"

Her voice echoed in the room as he took a deep breath, as if trying to accept her answer.

"I need to know" he said, slowly, quietly and she let out a long frustrated breath.

"I need to know I am different from him" he said, his voice almost pleading.

"What?" she burst out, not believing what he was saying "Logan?" she asked, incredulous "this is about Logan?"

He stared at her, not backing down.

"You cannot be serious. What does he have to do with this?" she cried.

He didn't reply and she wondered if it was because he was ashamed to feel the way he did or because he was trying to make her feel guilty for something.

"Stop it" she groaned, rubbing her temples in frustration.

"I've been standing here for an hour thinking, Rory, and it keeps coming back to him."

"No" she cut him off "You and my mother. You are the only ones that still think of him. I don't. Okay? It is done and over with and not every decision I make is influenced by an ex-boyfriend from years and years ago."

He sighed, perhaps trying to accept her argument.

"You are not him" she whispered "You are not like him."

"Your mother thinks so" he sighed defeatedly.

"Then she doesn't know you" she pleaded.

"Rory" he sighed "you have to admit..." he started, his voice cracking.

"No" she cut him off "there is nothing to admit. You can stand here all you want, trying to propose theories and give explanations, but there is no point."

He studied her face as she stood there, not backing down, determined to erase the doubts in his mind.

"Rory?" he said her name, dropping his gaze to the floor as if trying to address something painful "Do you ever regret saying no to him?"

His question rang louder than the thunder from outside and she stood there shocked.

She watched his face, troubled behind the mask of cool confidence and he suddenly looked helpless to him.

"No" she whispered genuinely "No" she repeated, shaking her head to emphasize her point as she stepped closer to him, reaching out her hand.

He fingers lingered on his skin as he closed his eyes taking a deep breath.

"But you did regret saying yes to me" he whispered, his voice small, broken and her heart hurt seeing the pain on his face.

She dropped her hand, breathing hard. She felt like he was literally slipping away.

"I can't change what happened. I can't go back and do things differently" she pleaded and he sighed as if trying to keep his composure.

"And I don't want to" she suddenly said, her voice strong, ringing with a new found determination "I want to be here. With you. Now."

He looked up at her, his eyes questioning.

"So I am" she went on as if that statement could prove everything to him.

He sighed and she could feel his defenses crumble. She moved closer to him, once again reaching out for him.

"Let me" she whispered "because it's the only thing that makes sense to me right now."

She moved into his arms, that snaked around her unconsciously, and she sighed relieved to feel his skin against her face. She revelled in the fact that these two bodies seemed to naturally find their common resting place, despite all the confusion and doubt racing inside them.

She felt another thunderbolt gently shake the air around her and the lightning followed suit, her body reverberating with the shock waves, the air seemingly magnetic around them.

She faintly remembered the laws of impedance and molecular physics and electricity, and for the slightest moment she had the notion that maybe all those laws, all those theories, with their carefully constructed arguments where useless, because there was nothing stronger than love and want and need between people who are supposed to be together.

And for the first time, Rory Gilmore, the one who always had to have rational explanations for everything, wanted to believe in something she only felt but had no theory for.


	14. I know that it's a wonderful world

He was home again, unusually early. He was sitting in his leather armchair, staring out over the darkening city. He mused over the fact that he hadn't been home early enough to see the sun set for ages. That hadn't happened since... well since she left him. He had been glad to be buried in his work and thankfully there was always work to be done for a lawyer. People always screwed up.

He had noticed though that work seemed to be not quite enough nowadays to keep him occupied. He would get fidgety by about four, and would glance at the clock every couple of minutes by five and by six he would be nervously tapping his feet on the ground behind his desk.

Some days he would be patient enough to wait for her phone call, her voice sheepish and quiet at the end of the line asking him if he was finished for the day. He would play it cool and humm and shuffle a few pieces of paper but then pretty much be out the door by the time they hung up, with her no doubt seeing through all the charade.

Other days he would be less patient and he would pick up the phone to call her, asking what she was doing and when she would finish, making up some excuse about a client canceling their meeting or him needing to take his mind off a case that he'd been working too much on.

You did have to keep up pretenses.

After all, it had been less than a week since they had been... back together.

He leaned back in the chair smiling involuntarily. That's what they were, right? Back together.

That's what it felt like. With her spending pretty much every night at his place since Paris' party. It had become a routine, eternally fragile and undetermined, but a routine nevertheless.

She would come over or they would meet for dinner or coffee, have a conversation about their day, with him always cautious and her always a bit holding back, but by the evening, when they would step out onto the wet and cool streets or would settle on the couch in his apartment, they would once again be magically closer, more intimate, with the two of them finding their way back to each other more and more easily with every night.

He didn't dare think about what this all meant. He didn't dare talk about it. No one knew about her being back in his life. It's not like he talked to anyone about his private life anyway. He was a bit of a loner, his true friends somewhere miles and miles away, only connected by memories of tougher times and morals that were printed into their souls a long long time ago. The people he met up in the city were not close friends. They were workmates, and drinking buddies and friends of friends, and most of them sort of disappeared during that half a year when he wouldn't answer phone calls and wouldn't oblige to invitations and wouldn't meet up with anyone willingly.

That might have been the toughest thing about loosing Rory when she left him: him realizing that she was his best friend. Someone that tested his strength, that brutally found his weaknesses, someone that managed to open him up and uncover parts of him that he didn't know existed, deep scars and childish hopes, forgotten memories and imagined goals.

All of those things were suddenly returning, with frivolous interactions about movies turning into conversations about life and death and everything in between.

Speaking with Rory Gilmore was like a freaking maelstrom, you never knew what muddy deepness would be uncovered or whether you would find yourself drowning in the next second.

Other things changed too.

The other morning he walked into the kitchen after returning from his dawn jog around the Reservoir and found Rory staring at an open cupboard.

He bit back a smile as he walked to the fridge making his presence known to her, taking out a bottle of water and taking a slow swig.

"You brought coffee" she said turning away from the open cupboard to face him, trying to hold back a brilliant smile. One of those smiles.

"It's instant" he replied with a shrug, as if proposing an argument.

"But it's coffee" she replied, cheekily.

"It's powder. You have to mix it with water and it tastes like shit" he smirked.

"But it's coffee" she repeated, her smile now glorious.

"You hate instant" he offered.

"It's still coffee" she said stepping closer to him, glowing.

"Shut up" he replied smirking and she burst out laughing, giving him a grateful kiss.

He smiled at the memory as he looked out over the city again.

He heard knocking on the door, fast and intense and he got up to open it.

She was standing in front of him, her hair damp with rain, her breathing slightly fast, her eyes strangely electric and her expression a bit unsure, but determined nevertheless.

He stood back, staring at her for a second, taking in her peculiar appearance, his eyes squinting as if he could see the reason for her disheveled aura.

"I quit my job" she said, her voice slightly shaking and he stared at her in shock.

She took a deep breath seeing his no doubt confused and shocked expression and walked past him, taking her coat off hastily.

He stared at the now empty entrance for a second blinking hard a couple of times.

"What?" he said, closing the door and turning to look at her.

She slumped down into the armchair he was just occupying, stubbornly staring out onto the city.

Her breathing was fast, her body seemingly on full alert mode, as if she was still on a joyride or recovering from a big fight.

"I quit the Times" she said, her words fast and strangely light.

He stared at her, his mind racing but not quite registering anything.

She sneaked a peak at him and then turned her focus back onto the skyscrapers, perhaps not pleased by the shock that still resided on his face.

"Rory..." he started, his voice unsure, full of questions "..why?"

"I wanted to" she replied, furrowing her brows as she kept her gaze on a distant spot on the horizon.

"But..." he started, but didn't know how to continue. What could he say? But you love it there? But it's your dream? But you are meant to work there?

He wasn't sure about any of those things anymore. And apparently she wasn't either.

He slumped down into the chair next to her.

There was silence. Undecided and weary and he took a deep breath again trying to organize the questions in his head so it wouldn't come out in a jumble of words.

"What happened?" he asked and his voice was quiet, conspiratory.

"I didn't like it" she replied, perhaps too easily.

"That's not true" he said, his voice calm, if a bit unsure.

She sighed.

"I wasn't happy there" she tried again, this time sounding more sincere.

"Why?" he asked and it felt like the stupidest question ever.

She shrugged obviously not knowing how to answer.

"You've had a couple of bad assignments, stories that didn't really interest you, but..." he stated his reasons.

"It's not just a rut" she cut him off "it's... I am not sure I want to do this anymore" she went on, her voice careful.

"Do what?" he asked, his voice slightly shaking, for reasons beyond him.

"Writing" she replied and it might as well have been attached to a thunderbolt, even though there wasn't a lightning storm outside.

He stared at her, not quite understanding. Rory saying that sounded unnatural, unacceptable. Rory without writing seemed like something unfathomable. When he thought of her, he thought of her in front of her laptop, typing away furiously. He thought of notes left on post-its, napkins, on the margins of books, on the side of newspapers. He thought of letters and emails and directions on the fridge secured by magnets. Rory and writing were inseparable. Rory _was_ writing.

This sudden change in her, this decision, this determination was absurd. He knew this. This was familiar. This was... Lorelai. She reared her head inside her every now and then with this kind of sudden decisiveness, stubbornness.

He didn't quite now how to handle it. As he didn't quite know how to handle Lorelai.

They sat in silence staring out over the city.

"What are you going to do?" he whispered, not daring to look at her, willing himself to sound less worried, less shocked.

She turned to him, her face becoming more gentle, a smile gracing her features.

"Live my life" she chuckled lightly.

He studied her face, that did seem relieved somehow. It didn't ease his worries though. He felt his brows furrowed, his face troubled as she got out of her chair and climbed into his lap, her movements slow, dreamlike.

"First off" she said, in a hushed whisper "I am going to undress you."

He watched her eyes gleam and her lips purse up in a smirk as her fingers went to work on his shirt, freeing the buttons.

He felt his body react instantly, warmth flooding his chest and his arousal stirring and he hated himself for not being able to stay calm, to focus, to deny her. He knew that this was her plan in the first place, to distract him, to act as if this was not important, as if her quitting her dream job, the single thing she worked for for the past twenty years, was unimportant and something that can be discarded with a shrug.

He closed his eyes and felt his head drop back as her lips trailed small fiery kisses on his neck.

"Then I am going to have a nice evening with you" she whispered, her voice inexplicably light, worryless.

Through the aroused haze that started to settle over his brain, he wondered for a split second if he was discarded for the same inexplicable reasons. If they were all discarded and left behind for the same reasons. With no particular explanations. Just a flash of two neurons inside that dense head of a Gilmore girl.

"Stop obsessing" she whispered and he realized his whole body was tense, the only sign of his faltering protest.

"Rory" he sighed, trying to voice his concern, but he realized that the adjoined gentle shove to get her away from continuing her ministrations was not carried out. So she managed to move up to just under his ears, sending shivers down his back as her tongue darted out to lick his earlobe.

He cursed and she ground her hips into his as an answer. That was the last of it for him. His brain gave up trying to reason, his body once again shamelessly succumbing to her will. He felt his arms pull her lithe frame even closer to him, his apparent need making her moan out loud in appreciation.

"Now that's more like it" he heard her murmur and he dropped his head back as he felt her hands unbuckle his pants and reach inside to stroke him, making his breathing hitch.

He felt all his nerve endings fire up and his sensitive skin pulse under her rough touch and he laid back into the cool leather chair, giving her full control.

His mind registered the loss of pressure as she climbed out of his lap, but he couldn't quite open his eyes, giving her full and utter control.

He cried out uncontrollably as his erection was met with the warm and wet confine of her mouth and he forced his eyes open to see her kneeling between his legs, her face aroused and determined.

"Fucking hell, Mary" he cursed again, desperately fighting for breath.

He heard her moan contently as she swallowed him deep and he had to grip the arms of the chair as his head fell back, a loud moan breaking from his lips again.

"Jesus" he hissed.

His body started to tingle and go numb as she sucked him in a slow and sensuous rhythm, her fingers massaging his balls and moving up further lazily to stroke his ass.

He felt like he was going to cum in seconds and he suddenly grabbed her arms, pulling her up into his lap again, panting hard at the loss of contact.

"Rory" he pleaded, his voice barely coming out as he closed his eyes trying to steady his breathing.

He heard her chuckle lightly and felt her straddle him giving him a couple of moments to try to regain his composure.

She readjusted herself over him, guiding his throbbing erection into her glistening core and he felt his whole body rise and become weightless as she sank into him with a long sigh.

"God" he cried out panting hard once again as he felt her start a fast pace of thrusts on top of him.

"Baby" he tried a desperate plea once again "you gotta slow down."

He heard her release a pleased chuckle as she sank onto him in another firm thrust, continuing to ride him hard, her uninhibited moans filling the room.

He dissolved into the leather armchair, letting his head drop back as she took over. There was no point in resisting when she was in charge, when she was guided by some new found determination and motivation to be leading, to be on top. Literally and figuratively.

He opened his eyes to see her writhing form on top of him, her hair flying around her as she rode him with firm thrusts and loud moans, her eyes squeezed shut and her body electric.

His hands roamed her body, sliding over her breasts and the valley between them, her flat stomach and smooth hips and he felt his edge approach rapidly. He grabbed her hips and thrust up into her, hitting her firm and deep, sending her over, crying out his name in ecstasy and he let go as well, spilling his load into her warmness as he called her his own.

She collapsed on top of him, her sweaty body sticking to his damp skin, her hair falling all around them to cover them as a protective shield.

He felt the blood pump through his vessels, the pulse wave echoing in his ears as he tried to slow his breathing. His hands unconsciously roamed her body still, her ethereally smooth skin light under his touch. He opened his eyes to watch her recompose herself, brushing away the strands of hair that had fallen into her face. She looked so calm, so sure, so unaffected.

His heart still beat rapidly and he watched her, as if his searching eyes could decipher her and her actions, her mysteries. Even though he never really felt like he could.

"What? " she asked with a curious smile and he realized that he had been staring.

"Are you going to tell me what happened? " he asked, his voice quiet as the smile disappeared from her face.

She took a deep breath and climbed off of him.

He watched as she wandered towards the kitchen and disappeared, her silence telling him that she did not appreciate his consistence.

He sighed and stared at the city in front of him, now clad in darkness.

His body was spent, gently humming still from his release, but his mind was restless, as his thoughts raced to understand her motives.

He suddenly furrowed his brows as something occurred to him.

"Did somebody say something about you?" he asked.

She appeared from the kitchen, clutching a carton of ice cream he didn't even know he had.

"What do you mean?" she asked as she settled into the chair next to him, digging into the treat with a spoon.

"Did somebody tell you something bad?" he rephrased.

"Something bad?" she repeated turning to watch him, still not quite understanding.

He sighed, not knowing how to put it without offending her.

"Did somebody say you are not 'cut out for it'?" he asked cautiously and her eyebrows shot up in a sign of recognition.

"Oh" she shook her head "you think someone told me that I am not cut out to be a journalist, so I am fleeing?" she scoffed.

"It happened before" he said, his voice very small, as if he were afraid of the consequences of his words.

"That was different" she replied violently, getting up from her seat and walking to the huge window.

He didn't reply, her reaction telling him to wait it out instead.

"This is completely different" she huffed "God, nobody is ever going to let me live that down, are they?"

"Rory" he tried to calm her down, but didn't quite know how to continue.

He finally gathered the strength to get up, realizing that he had not yet readjusted his clothes and he suddenly felt silly, trying to explain to her how her sudden decisions were alike while zipping up his pants.

"I am just trying to understand what the hell is happening" he said, desperately trying to get through to her.

He stepped up to her, his arms caressing her and he felt her relax into his hold.

She turned around slowly and he took the ice cream from her hands, placing it on the table.

"Look" he tried again, taking a deep breath and he felt her eyes on his, listening intently.

"You have to understand how this looks to me" he started, choosing his words carefully "You come in here, declare you are quitting the Times and want to stop writing altogether and then blow my brains out when I try to coax you into some reasonable explanation."

His words spilled from his mouth and he saw her smile cautiously as she listened.

"Now, do not get me wrong, I love this type of reaction, really, but…" he stopped for a second, seeing her sigh wearily "but I am worried, okay? "

He watched her as she stood in front f him, her eyes sad and her expression suddenly tired.

"Rory" he whispered to her, his fingers brushing a stand of hair away from her eyes "I know you have made some hasty decisions in the past, like Harvard over Yale and quitting Yale and whatever, and I am not saying that they were wrong decisions…" he sighed, taking a moment before going on "but they all had a reason. A good reason. And I am just trying to know what it is. "

She looked up at him with a solemn face and he could tell his words hit their mark.

"I don't know what to say, okay?" she started, her voice weak, desperate "I don't know the reason, I wish I did, but all those times you mentioned… I never really knew the reason straight away, I just knew it was what I had to do at the time. So this might be hard to accept and even harder to understand… but, just bare with me okay? And be there for me… And I'll figure it out eventually, alright?" she finished, looking up at him with pleading eyes and his heart broke for her.

She looked so small, so shy and so lost and suddenly he believed everything she said, every annoying 'I don't know why' he ever endured from her, every fact that he had to accept without explanations.

"Alright" he whispered, pulling her into a hug.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

She sighed nervously as he turned off the ignition and he watched with a worried expression as she gathered her courage to get out of the car.

He felt his whole body protest against being here, his last memories of this place still way to vivid in his mind, but when she asked him that morning, whispering in the darkness of the bedroom, to come here with her, he knew he couldn't deny her.

She needed his support and that was that. He realized in that moment, her skin warm against his own under the covers, that it had to be all or nothing now. He was either going to be there for her and wait out the roller coaster ride that was Rory Gilmore's nth quarter life crisis, or he should have bailed. Long ago.

"Long lost daughter, is that you? " he heard Lorelai's voice and he gave Rory's hand one reassuring squeeze before they both got out from his car on the front lawn of the Gilmore-Danes residence that was decorated with skulls, giant spider webs and pumpkins.

"Hey Mom" Rory greeted her mother, walking up to the porch and he stayed behind, not quite knowing what to do.

He saw Lorelai fittingly clad in a witch costume, her face frozen in a shocked expression when she saw him and he waited out as the two women whispered frantically on the porch.

"Need a bit more time? I could go another round so you two can catch up" he smirked, motioning to the car behind him.

Rory turned around.

"You just want to flee" she scolded.

"Might be my last chance. Who knows where she put up the barbed wire" he replied, his words sarcastic and he snickered as Lorelai's eyes narrowed.

"Very funny" she said.

"What are you two doing here? I thought you had to work? " Lorelai turned back to Rory, who squirmed uncomfortably.

"I thought we could surprise you guys. And I wanted to see the Halloween hoopla" she said nervously.

"Oh my, it's going to be great. I got Luke to construct this fake guillotine, I can't wait till the kids see it. It's going to freak them out" Lorelai said with a huge smile on her face.

They walked into the house, where everything was dim and smokey with an occasional flash of light, huge fake spiders and skeletons covering the entrance as dramatic music played from the speakers.

"Luke, come see who's here" Lorelai called out and Luke appeared, his face covered in green paint with metallic pins sticking out from the sides of his head.

Tristan chuckled as he saw the shocked surprise upon seeing him there with Rory change back to sheer annoyance on the guy's face.

"Oh my god, you got him to dress up as Frankenstein? " Rory squealed in delight as Luke rolled his eyes.

"Look" Lorelai said triumphantly "Rory brought _Tristan_" her face in her signature 'I told you so' look.

"How are you, Luke?" Tristan shook the older man's hand.

"Stellar" Luke gritted through his teeth.

"Favorite time of the year for ya? " Tristan asked, under his breath.

"Yeah. Not so much" Luke replied, and the two shared a compassionate look that only those understood who ever had a Gilmore girl to call their own.

"Luke is just about done with lunch, you guys hungry? " Lorelai asked, steering them towards the kitchen.

"I could eat" Rory replied.

"Shocker" Tristan murmured, then smirked as Rory turned around to scold him with another look.

The two guys stayed behind as the girls walked towards the kitchen resuming the not so subtle whispering.

Tristan watched as Luke fidgeted nervously with his costume.

"About last time…" he started to explain, but Tristan cut him off.

"Don't worry about it."

"It was not my idea" Luke went on.

"Yeah, I figured" Tristan chuckled.

"I am glad it worked out, nevertheless" Luke said, clearing his throat nervously.

The two shared an uncomfortable silence, before Luke ushered Tristan after the girls.

The kitchen was just as artfully decorated as the rest of the house with large pots boiling and fake smoke rising from them.

"Check out the decor!" Lorelai pointed out the details, her eyes shining with pride.

"That's cool, Mom, I have to say, you really outdid yourself this year" Rory nodded in appreciation.

"Wait till you see David. He is so cute!" Lorelai squealed in delight.

"Where is he?" Rory asked as she seated herself at the table, pulling out a chair next to hers for Tristan.

"Taking a nap upstairs, but I've got a Chuckie costume with his name on it" Lorelai said in a sing-song voice.

"Oh my god Mom, that's sick!" Rory said in shock.

"Oh come on, it's perfect" she protested.

Tristan mused over the oddity of the conversation and the oddity of that house in general. It felt strangely familiar to be back at that table he had not occupied for the past half a year, with the two girls practicing their usual undecipherable rant and Luke serving up the food that seemed to come in extra large quantities.

He caught Lorelai staring at him with beaming pride as Luke sat down next to her.

"See? I told you operation 'lock 'em up' would work!" she declared.

Rory rolled her eyes nervously and Tristan just sighed, knowing better than to try to fight the insanity.

"That or they actually like each other" Luke pointed out, passing a bowl of potatoes to Tristan.

Lorelai scoffed in disbelief.

"Yeah, well sometimes, you need a little confinement to realize that" she countered.

"Or some insane person whose insanity you both agree on" Luke replied and Lorelai gasped in shock.

"You're just not able to admit I was right and it worked" she went on.

"And you're just delusional" came the reply.

"Well, you're…"

"I quit the Times" Rory's voice cut them both off. There was a sudden flash of light in the dimly lit kitchen and complete silence, apart from the music that played throughout the whole house.

Tristan watched as Luke and Lorelai stared at Rory in shock and he felt her hand reach for his under the table.

He squeezed it reassuringly and waited for Lorelai's wrath.

"Care to elaborate?" the woman asked, her eyes a dangerous blue he recognized from having seen Rory's angry expression one too many times.

Rory squirmed uneasily under the intense stare of her mother, shrugging as an answer.

"I haven't been happy with my job for a long time now and I decided that I wanted to do something else. So after much consideration, I gave them my notice and they accepted" she delivered the line that she no doubt had been formulating during the car drive.

Tristan sneaked a peak back at Lorelai and saw that the effect wasn't exactly what Rory was hoping for.

"What do you mean you haven't been happy? " she asked, and another flash of light filled the room.

"Luke, could you turn the damn fake lightning off?" Lorelai burst out.

Luke got up to flick a switch, turning the normal lighting on and they were now sitting in the lit up kitchen without any sudden flashes of light or dramatic music.

"Do you have another job offer? Something you like more? Like a smaller paper or a weekly or something?" Lorelai asked, her voice in disbelief.

Tristan watched as Rory took a deep breath.

"No" she answered.

There was silence again and Tristan started to miss the music.

"Well, do you at least have a plan. A list? An idea of what you are going to do? " Lorelai asked, her voice becoming more frantic.

There was silence again.

"I thought I could take a job at a coffee shop until I figure things out" she replied.

Tristan imagined another bolt of lightning in the silence that ensued, because the look on Lorelai and Luke's faces would have called for one.

He looked at Rory furrowing his brows as he contemplated the idea of her serving at a coffee shop. For starters, she was a clumsy server. Then there was the issue of asking the sheep to guard the cabbages, but whatever.

"Did you know about this?" Lorelai broke his line of thoughts and he turned back to look at her. She was as mad as he'd ever seen her, her blue eyes a swirling sea of emotions.

"She told me yesterday, after she quit" he replied, his voice calm.

"And you're fine with this?" she asked, her voice suddenly raised.

Tristan shot her a look.

"I respect her decision" he started, but was cut off by Lorelai's rant.

"This is ridiculous, Rory. This is not why you worked, why _we_ worked for all those years" she spat out.

"Mom, calm down" Rory pleaded.

"No. You come in here and tell me you quit the job you worked for all your life to go and serve lattes to snotty New Yorkers" she ranted, her words spilling out of her mouth.

"Temporarily" Rory pointed out.

"You don't take a job like that with a Yale diploma temporarily. You go and work for an up and coming newspaper, or you write freelance or you go and take a freaking job at Vogue or go all hippy and start teaching back at Yale, but you don't go and serve coffee!"

Rory sighed, pushing her chair back as she got up to walk out of the kitchen.

"Do not walk out, I am not finished" Lorelai followed her.

Tristan sat in silence as Luke sat down across from him and both of them listened to the sounds of the argument coming from the living room. It was a whirlwind, when those two went at it. It was rare, but it happened from time to time. Tristan stared at a spot on the table and realized Luke was doing the same. He looked up and the two shared a knowing glance.

"Is she alright?" Luke asked and Tristan realized how gentle and worried his voice was, concern showing in his eyes.

"I don't know" he replied honestly "We just started talking again. I am not going to push her for an explanation if she's not ready to give one."

Luke nodded and the two resumed their silent waiting.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

He stood on the front lawn, watching the trick or treaters pass by in colorful costumes, their delighted chatter filling the street.

He heard the door open behind him and her footsteps approach.

He didn't turn around, staring at the people instead.

"She's gone trick or treating with Luke and David" Tristan said.

"He's too young still. I think Luke just likes to show him off" Lorelai replied and he could hear her trying, her voice immensely calmer than during her fight with Rory.

The two stood for a minute or so, staring at the small town's crazy inhabitants.

"I am worried about her" she finally said, her voice quiet, lost.

"So am I" he replied.

"You don't look worried" she shot back, her voice full of reproach.

He sighed turning to face her.

"Well, I am."

"She is making a mistake" she said, her lips pressed together.

"You don't know that" he pointed out, forcing his voice to remain calm.

"I do know that!" she protested and he sighed again, not wanting to fight.

"This is exactly like the time she quit Yale" she huffed.

"She needed that" he pointed out.

"That is bullshit" she shot back and he was silenced once again, knowing Lorelai rarely cursed.

"She is acting out. She is making hasty decisions. She goes and brakes up with you, then goes back and forth, before realizing she wants you and now she quits her job…" Lorelai went on and he listened dutifully "it's like she is unhappy in her life and she doesn't know what she wants, so she tries to sabotage everything."

He listened quietly, not sharing his own views.

"She didn't solve it by the breakup, so now she goes and quits her job" she huffed.

He chuckled catching the hidden illusion.

"Why don't you say what you want to say, Lorelai, I think we are past the point of pleasantries" he said with a wry smile.

She sighed, her expression annoyed.

"It's obvious she is unhappy with her life and she has been for a while" she started her reasoning.

He listened curiously, waiting for the blow.

"It's also clear that she doesn't know what she is unhappy with…" Lorelai went on.

"But you are thinking it's me rather than her job" Tristan finished her sentence.

"That's not what I was going to say" she retorted.

"But it's what you think" he said with a wry smile.

"I don't know what to think anymore. You are back together, she should be happy, but she is not" Lorelai said, her voice sounding desperate.

"And the idea that she could be unhappy with her job is just unfathomable to you? " Tristan asked, his voice sour.

"She wanted this job all her life, she wanted you for what?…" she said.

"Oh my god" he turned away to pace on the lawn "I cant believe we are back here again!"

"If you can give me one explanation, if you can tell me she is going to be happy leaving behind something she worked for so long…" Lorelai bargained.

"I can't tell you that Lorelai. It seems to be a trial and error thing for her nowadays" he replied bitterly.

She sighed.

"I don't see where this is all coming from. She was fine and happy until…" she said, her voice sounding desperate once again.

"Until I asked her to marry me" he finished bitterly.

She didn't reply but he could tell that's what she was thinking.

The two stood in silence as the cold night air around them settled, like after a storm. He felt his chest heave as though he had been running for hours and the uncertainty in his stomach threatened to take over.

"I know Rory" she started, her words cautious.

"No, Lorelai, you don't. Not really" he cut her off and the determination surprised even himself.

She looked up at him in shock.

"You _knew_ her. You did. You were closer than any mother and daughter I know, you are still, but she is not your little girl anymore. She is not living in that small bedroom, pinning up Harvard banners and idolizing Amanpour. She grew up and she went through some tough times and she had a life outside of this town and outside of what you know about her. You are going to have to accept the fact that she has her own thoughts and own emotions and she doesn't necessarily share them all with you."

He stopped his rant and stared at Lorelai, her expression undecipherable.

"I don't know what makes you so sure that you know her" she countered.

"I just do. I know she is unsure of herself sometimes, even if the world and everyone and you think she succeeds at everything she ever started. I know she says she is doing her laundry every Thursday night but she is actually just happy to disappear with a fucking book for a couple of hours. I know she sneaks in a couple of carrots into the refrigerator, because like it or not, she actually enjoys them. I know she misses David like crazy but she freaks out about having a baby of her own every time she comes back from Stars Hollow. And I know she has stories in her that she writes down on pieces of paper whenever the thought occurs to her, but she is not ready to accept they are good. I know all of the things you don't see anymore, Lorelai. And you should be fucking glad I am there to see them. I am the best thing that ever happened to her."

He finished his monologue, the last words ringing dramatically in the air as Lorelai stood stunned.

He turned around, the house, the mother, the whole fiasco suddenly too much to handle. He let his feet carry him away from the stunned woman, still standing on the front lawn. He walked through the streets of that crazy town, the cold night air filling his lungs and calming his nerves and he felt powerful, determined, sure. His words reassured himself and he knew what his role was and what he wanted. He just hoped she would know as well.


	15. Gravity

She noted him walking into the crowded coffee shop wearing his usual fitted suit with the tie conveniently gone and his shirt loosened. It was already cold outside, but Tristan didn't seem to notice. He didn't like overcoats and often walked around in his suit way into winter, as if his body was a radiating source of heat, creating a protective field around itself.

She remembered those winter mornings when she would beg him to at least put a scarf around his neck. He would oblige, amused, and she'd feel a little better about letting him out onto the cold streets. Not that it mattered much. His body was as resistant towards the cold as it was against anything new or unwelcomed.

She wondered whether it was a question of sheer will or just of receptors and genetics.

She watched as he stood in the middle of the room, scanning the inside of the shop, failing to notice her. He sat down by an empty table checking his wristwatch before absentmindedly picking up the menu. She smiled studying his gestures, noticing the pair of girls in the next booth shamelessly checking him out and giggling loudly. She was used to women trying to get his attention, he was a looker after all. But he seemed to be immune to all that stuff. She once asked him about it and he said something about not wanting what was thrown in his face anymore. He liked to work for things now, to be able to appreciate them.

She smiled and made his way to his table, still not able to get his attention.

"Good evening sir, may I take your order?" she said with a playful voice and she grinned widely as he looked up, the shock on his face evident.

She watched as he scanned her from head to toe, his eyes taking in her uniform of a black shirt and pants, the long neatly tied apron covering her legs. His eyes came to rest on her name tag and his mouth remained open in a gesture of surprise and amusement.

"Oh my god" he said, finally looking up into her face.

"We have a hot cocoa special today for only 4.99, but if you would like coffee, we have the largest selection of South American blends in the city" she proudly declared.

She watched in amusement as he blinked, still stunned by the fact that their coffee date turned out to be him seeing her new workplace for the first time.

"May I suggest the Terraza Blend? I am sure you'd love it and I can put an extra shot of caramel in it just for you." she winked.

He finally managed to compose himself, piecing the puzzle together.

"First of all" he said, catching her off guard by taking her wrist in his hand and pulling her close, giving her a thorough kiss. Suddenly store policies and managers talking about work ethic and service etiquette went out the door as she felt his still frozen lips move languidly over hers.

She smiled as he pulled away and then looked around nervously, remembering where they were. She sighed relieved to see that none of her coworkers were looking. The girls next booth probably were though, since the loud giggling turned into shocked stares. She felt a proud glow that she remembered having every time they were out with Tristan in public.

Her content thoughts were interrupted by his voice.

"You really did this? You got a job at a coffee shop?" he asked.

She smiled at him nodding. She felt surprisingly proud, even though it was a stupid afternoon shift in an average New York City coffee shop. But it was something she went and got after doing a careful research of locations and work policies.

Not to mention coffee selections. This was the winner and after an hour of trying to convince the manager that she was not way too overqualified for the job, she got herself a waitressing gig at Coffee Hut.

"Wow" he said, more to himself than to her and she could see the realization on his face, the fact that she really was at such a loss in her life that taking a job like this sounded reasonable. She watched him carefully and their worried expressions met for a second.

"Well... uhm, the Terraza Blend sounds great" he said, and she could see genuine warmth in his eyes.

She was thankful for it, because she knew it was an effort on his part, to understand or even accept her actions. But he managed to do it, even if no one else in her life did.

"I'll bring it right out, sir" she smiled and turned to walk back to the counter to pass the order to the barrister.

xxxxxxx

She hung up her apron in the changing room and sighed, noting the muscle fatigue in all parts of her body. She didn't know serving coffee could be so exhausting.

Her legs felt like stone and she felt the coffee vapor on her skin forming a thin, invisible residue, her hair sticking together in tangled locks.

She took her coat out of her locker and walked out through the back entrance thankful for the chilly night air.

She walked around the block to see him leaning against the side of the coffee shop, Blackberry in hand. He was concentrating on whatever he was reading, but looked up as soon as she approached him, slipping the shiny machine into his suit pocket.

"Ready to go, working girl?" he chuckled.

"Yeah" she whispered, smiling at him, thankful for his support during her first shift.

He sat for two and a half hours at the table, consuming four cups of coffee and two muffins.

"Wow, you look tired" he said, pulling her close as they walked on the busy sidewalks "you wanna get a cab?"

"No, let's walk, I wanna air my pores. I smell like coffee" she mumbled.

"You always smell like coffee" he smirked.

"I didn't think waitressing was this tough" she sighed "I don't know how Lane did it being pregnant".

"You did good" he said, reassuringly.

She stopped suddenly on the street and he looked back at her with a questioning expression.

"You don't think I am crazy for doing this, do you?" she said, with all honesty.

He sighed, looking around as if trying hard to be able to voice his feelings.

"No. I don't think you are crazy" he said, his voice calm, controlled.

"But you think it's odd" she replied trying to find and angle on him.

"Yes" he shrugged, not wanting to fight her.

She sighed defeated.

"But you are odd, Rory. I've known that for a while now" he smirked, his fingers brushing back a strand of hair from her face as he stepped closer.

She closed her eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted not just physically, but in every possible sense of the word.

"You think I am making a mistake, like mom" she sighed.

He raised his eyes to the sky, not annoyed, just undecided.

"What do you want me to say, Rory? I feel like I can't win with this answer" he explained.

She furrowed her brows, knowing he was right. She was trying to provoke him into saying something that she could be mad for.

"I know that this might be completely irrational..." she started her reasoning.

"It is" he replied calmly.

"And I know I might regret it..." she went on.

"You might" he echoed her words, not backing away.

"But I really think I need this" she said, closing her eyes, her voice trembling.

"Shhh" he said, stepping closer and pulling her into his arms.

"And I just want to feel like I can go and do something irrational, without everyone judging me right away" she said, her voice breaking.

"I thought I wasn't judging you" he whispered back and she could tell he was making an effort, trying to control his voice to sound as calm as possible.

"I feel like you should" she crumbled, her emotions taking over her.

He sighed, defeated stepping away to be able to look at her.

"I'm losing track here, Rory" he said with a bittersweet smile.

"God, I know" she mumbled frustrated, rubbing her eyes.

"I feel like you don't trust me being there for you" he said, his face contemplative.

"I want to" she said "but maybe I wouldn't be that understanding in your place" she said softly, self doubt taking over her.

"You would" he said "you were" he went on and she looked up confused.

He smiled.

"Remember the Wilson case?" he said, his voice suddenly stronger.

She furrowed her brows, the name ringing a distant bell in her head.

"Yeah" she mumbled, not quite understanding where he was heading with this.

"I worked on that for 6 months" he said and she remembered now, the complicated case taking up all his time and effort shortly after they had moved in together after having dated for a couple of months.

It was an unexpected bump in their relationship that seemed to be moving at lightning speed back then and she spent many nights waiting up for him until she figured out that his overzealous work ethic was a result of his first official commitment panic attack. His distant behavior, his concentration on the case became a tactic of avoidance for him. She was hurt at first, not understanding why he, after finally getting her, suddenly seemed distant and preoccupied, why he suddenly found ways to be as least present in the relationship as it would allow. It was many nights of thinking alone back at home realizing that it was fear on his part. Never having had a stable background to fall on, he fought like hell not to learn to get used to suddenly having one. It was a long and painful effort for her to make him see that trusting someone to be there for you is the only way life was worth living. But she was patient and it proved to be fruitful, her silent, non wavering support and calmness breaking down his walls, little by little, one day at a time.

"I was an asshole" he said "and you didn't mind me being completely irrational" he explained.

"Didn't mind might be a bit too strong of an expression" she remarked playfully.

"But you waited it out, until I came to my fucking senses" he pointed out.

"You..." she tried to explain "it was understandable... you had the whole family back story and all" she went on, failing to formulate an eloquent reasoning.

"I was an asshole. And when it was your turn to be the asshole... I couldn't quite do as good a job at waiting for you to come around" he went on.

"I was a much bigger asshole than you" she mumbled, not happy to be reminded of her erratic behavior.

"Whatever" he said, as if the months of cruelty, the months of uncertainty had left no damage on his soul.

She looked up to study him, knowing better.

"I don't want to be an asshole anymore" she whispered.

"You're not" he snickered.

"Just completely irrational" she groaned.

"Look, I don't care, okay? Whatever you want is fine" he said and he took her face into his hands "You can go and jump out of fucking airplanes, Rory, if you feel that is going to put things into perspective for you, okay? You don't owe anything to anyone, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. You go and do what you want to" he whispered and she felt his words warm her heart.

She watched him, his words reassuring her, her sea of emotions slowly calming as she suddenly felt safe, supported.

"I don't want to jump out of airplanes" she whispered with a small smile coyly breaking the heavy mood.

"Thank fucking god, I was worried for a second" he played along, not missing a beat as he took her hand with a relieved sigh, once again leading her down the sidewalk that seemed to be clearing thanks to the late hour.

"I might try bungee jumping though" she teased on as she followed him.

"Wow, I can really see you doing that" he replied "after about three pages worth of safety checklists" he added condescendingly.

"Hey! I've been known to do some extreme things!" she protested inducing a burst of laughter from him.

"Ladies and gentlemen: Rory "Daredevil" Gilmore" he snickered as she smacked him playfully.

xxxxxxx



He opened the door to the apartment and she felt relieved to be so close to rest. She dragged herself to the couch and fell back on it while Tristan stood in the doorway checking his mail.

She watched him from her comfortable position already knowing his next move. He had a routine, and even if it wasn't conscious, he followed it down to a blueprint when he got home. She found comfort in knowing some things never change no matter how much time had passed.

She smiled to herself as he absent mindedly hit the button on the answering machine, his eyes never leaving the letter he was scanning through.

She heard a sharp beep and then the message start.

"Hey" she heard her mother's uneasy voice and she saw Tristan's eyes dart up to the machine and subsequently to her.

"So Rory doesn't pick up her phone" the message continued and she sighed averting her eyes from Tristan, who was now studying her after dropping the letters on the small table by the door.

"Or her cell... And I am guessing she is spending some time there and thought I'd try... you know" she heard her go on. It was her uncomfortable and undecided voice, when she talks looking at her shoes and shrugging lightly with every sentence, her eyes darting every which way.

"I just want her to know that...I didn't mean to... hurt her feelings" Lorelai's voice went on and every word seemed to be an effort "and if this... is what she wants, then I... support her... I'm just worried is all" the recording paused, static filling the room.

She felt another rush of adrenaline surge in her stomach hearing her mother's confession and she looked back up at Tristan who was studying her with a worried expression, listening to the recording motionless.

"So... there and uhm, this was Lorelai by the way" the message finished and Tristan hit the machine, silencing it.

She closed her eyes and sighed expecting the questions to start.

Instead she heard him walk to the kitchen opening the fridge.

She opened her eyes to see him come back to the living room, sitting down into the armchair next to her sipping a bottle of water.

There was a couple of seconds worth of silence before he spoke.

"You're going to have to talk to her eventually" he whispered, his voice calm, matter of fact.

She didn't reply but let another couple of seconds pass, enjoying the silence of that apartment.

"She's..." he started, but she could tell his determination to defend Lorelai fell short.

She waited to see whether he came up with a reasonable ending for that sentence.

"She's your mother" he said and it seemed to express all his hurt and frustration and admiration for Lorelai.

"She thinks I am making a mistake" she finally spoke.

"Yeah, she seems to think that a lot nowadays" he replied, perhaps a bit bitterly and she could sense the underlying tension.

"I just" she squeezed her eyes shut, feeling tears come on "think that we had this great dynamic when I was small and now that I am grown and have my own decisions and views about things, she has a hard time accepting that it doesn't necessarily meet her ones".

He listened to her in silence, sipping his water.

"She is frustrating" she groaned.

"She is worried" he defended her, albeit his voice wasn't quite as determined as you would expect a lawyer's to be.

"Doesn't she frustrate you?" she asked, her voice hitching.

A small uninhibited chuckle burst from his lips.

"That's all she's even done to me, Rory" he said, his words sarcastic.

There was another silence, as she felt ashamed for her own mother and the way she's made Tristan feel. It's not that she didn't like him, or didn't approve. She was happy that Rory found someone she liked, but she was always judgmental about every move Tristan made. It seemed to her like her mother was waiting patiently for him to screw up so she could finally speak her mind. She realized now that that seemed to influence her commitment to Tristan.

"You are very patient with her" she suddenly said, her honest confession slipping form her lips. She thought about how many times he stood and endured her mother's passive resistance.

He looked at her, amused by her declaration of admiration.

"Yeah, well there are kinks" he snickered and she smiled catching his reference.

"Anyways" he said standing up to take his suit off "I wasn't so patient with her last time" he confessed as he occupied himself in the living room.

She followed him with her gaze, curious to know what he meant.

"You two talked?" she asked.

"Yeah... After you two fought" he said curtly, seemingly not wanting to elaborate.

She sat up, suddenly interested.

He looked back at her sighing.

"I wasn't so patient" he went on, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighed.

"What?" she laughed "You told her to shove it where the sun don't shine?" she asked, finding it hard to imagine that Tristan lost his cool. It was always a silent war between him and Lorelai, him winning by his calmness and restraint rather than witty accusations.

"I think I actually used the line I am the best thing that ever happened to her" he said wincing at the memory as he put his hands on his hips.

"No you didn't" she said shocked, unable to hold back her laughter.

"Ahhh. I'm afraid I did" he said, groaning at the memory.

"This is priceless" she said between fits of laughter.

"Yeah, well I was pissed" he said, his voice less controlled and more frustrated.

"Why?" she said, laughing.

"Because. That woman. She drives me mad" he groaned and she burst out laughing again, seeing him finally lose his front of restraint.

"Really?" she asked with a full fledged smile, enjoying the rise she got out of him.

"Seriously. Has she ever liked any of the guys you've been with?" he asked as he slumped back down into the armchair.

"Uhm. Actually. No" she chuckled as realization dawned on her, remembering that at one point in time, her mother was always against the guys she chose.

"She is so much like her mother, it's scary" he whispered and she chuckled again.

"Oh my god, don't ever tell her that or you'll never get on her good side" she said falling back into comfortable silence as the tension in her chest seemed to ease.

"She doesn't want any harm, you know?" she said quietly, realizing the fact herself.

"Yeah" he replied, eying her carefully, his voice raspy as it reverberated off the walls of the living room, filling her chest with calmness.

She realized that it had been his goal to get her to see that in the first place and she smiled at his tactic.

"You'd make a good lawyer, you know" she pointed out playfully as she stood up from her reclining position and walked over to him to be able to sit in his lap.

"Hmmm, thanks, I'll consider it" he chuckled as he welcomed her into his arms, letting her rest her head on his chest, his hand automatically going to caress her smooth hair.

She closed her eyes, enjoying the silence and the calm feeling that seeped into her, sitting there in his embrace.

"You gonna call her?" he whispered, ever so lightly.

She sighed, furrowing her brows.

"I'll consider it" she echoed his words, the meaning much more serious and disillusioned.

He hummed in affirmation as if knowing when not to push further and when to just accept.


	16. The seventh wave

"So your mom called today for the umpteenth time" he said as he came up to the bar, surprising her."

"Good afternoon to you too, sir. What can I get you?" she ignored his comment playfully, wearing her waitress smile.

"I thought you two were talking" he pointed out, smiling.

"We are" she brushed him off, not wanting to talk about the subject.

"Why does she feel the need to rant to me about Christmas festivals and how Kirk usually dresses up as baby Jesus?" he asked, not convinced.

"I... might have told her we're not coming for Christmas" she murmured, busying herself with cleaning the table.

"Oookay?" he said, no doubt surprised to hear this "Did we talk about this? Was I out stone drunk again?" he joked.

"Yeah, and Keith Richards called to see if you have his headband" she played along.

"Am I going to have to lock you into a room to get you guys to be on good terms again?" he asked, exhausted.

"Me and Keith? Yeah, that might be your only hope" she went on with the joke.

"No. You and your mom. I thought you two settled things" he tried again, his voice smaller.

"Yeah. I called her, we bantered, things are peachy" she said, still not wanting to talk about it.

"Why am I not convinced?" he asked with a warm smile.

"Look, I don't want the awkwardness, okay? What is the conversation going to go like? Tris, how is your latest case coming along? It's fine, working a lot, but I might have found a loophole to get the bastards out of their 5 million dollar debt. Ahh, good for you, good for them too. Yes, yes. And what about you, Rory? How is the coffee business going? It's going fine, mom. Yeah, it is going well for Luke too. Good to hear it. You two should trade serving secrets. Real subtle mom. Subtle? What do you mean? You just couldn't wait to throw in a hidden accusation in there, could you? How is that an accusation? Whatever mom. Don't whatever me. Whatever. Stop it. No, you stop it" she ranted noticing that Tristan had been staring at her with mouth agape.

"Uhm... you just had an argument with yourself" he said, amused.

"Not the point" she groaned.

"Seriously, you should perform this on stage. Very entertaining" he went on, smirking.

"Look, you have work anyways, and I love New York at Christmas" she reasoned.

"I hate New York at Christmas" he countered.

"You hate everything at Christmas, you hate Christmas" she sighed.

"Right" he agreed.

"But you'll just hole up in the office and come home when you're done and I'll wear a mistletoe on my panties" she said, smiling brilliantly.

He was once again left staring.

"Breathe?" she chuckled.

"Right" he said, inhaling deeply as if trying to clear his mind of dirty images.

He composed himself and tried once again.

"Look Rory, as much as that sounds like fun, I wish you two would just patch things up. I also wish she'd stop calling me" he said.

"Well. You might need to lock us up in a room" she said, exhausted.

"Planing it already" he smiled back at her.

"Don't forget the barb wire" she said, matter of factly.

"Oh my god, I think I tuned that out. Your mother is fucking insane" he said and she chuckled again.

"Yep" she agreed.

She heard his cell go off and he fished it out of his suit pocket, picking it up.

"Hello? Yeah I'm on my way" he said into the phone, getting up as he hung up.

"Well, where are you off to, Shania?" she asked amused.

"Court and uhm, do I even want to know why you just called me Shania?" he asked squinting.

"It's.. well, I'm on my way. Shania means I'm on my way in Ojibwa" she explained as Tristan watched her stunned.

"Oookay, I think that piece of knowledge just knocked out valuable law information" he humored her.

"You're just gonna have to charm 'em with your looks then. Bye" she laughed, giving him a quick kiss on the lips.

"Bye" he said as he walked towards the exit.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

"Hey" she walked into his office seeing him sitting in his leather armchair, turned away from his desk, staring out the window.

He turned around with a small smile on his lips.

"Hey" he greeted her "watcha doing here?" he asked.

She sat down in front of his desk, feeling a bit awkward.

"Uhm... just wanted to check where you were. I couldn't reach you all evening" she said carefully, not wanting it to sound like an accusation.

He furrowed his brows, seemingly not understanding what she was referring to. He looked at his wristwatch and she could tell he was stunned by what he saw.

"Wow, it's late" he exclaimed.

"Yeah, I know" she chuckled.

He leaned forward, checking his cell laying on the desk.

"Hmm, fourteen missed calls" he chuckled "I had it on silent, sorry".

"Hey not all those were from me, you know!" she pointed out, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

He sighed, fingers wiping his eyes in an exhausted gesture.

"I'm sorry, I lost track of time" he amended.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, worried for him "How was court?"

"Fine" he replied courtly.

She furrowed her brows, not believing him.

He noticed her expression of doubt because he smiled again warmly.

"We won" he reassured her.

"Really?" she asked. She knew he had been working on this case for a while now and somehow his reaction just wasn't what she'd expect.

"Why aren't you out with the guys, celebrating?" she asked, knowing it was their tradition to do so.

He leaned back into the armchair again.

"I told them to go ahead" he murmured, his face unreadable.

"Is everything okay?" she asked again, her worry taking over her once again.

There was a silence for a long time.

"Yeah" he answered, but she couldn't help but feel like he was brushing her off.

She took a deep breath, rising from her chair, going around his desk.

He looked up at her, his expression slightly surprised as she carefully climbed into his lap, straddling him.

"Oh, is that why you were looking for me so frantically?" he joked, smirking as he raised an eyebrow.

She studied his eyes, from her position, watching as his smirk faded and his face returned to the exhausted expression he'd been wearing.

She felt more comfortable, even if she knew nothing more of why he was like this. The nearness, the intimacy of their position seemed to calm her anyways. She studied his face, his eyes now closed as he leaned back into the comfortable leather chair.

She recognized this exhaustion from before. It was his own. He worked with such determination, such dedication, but it never seemed to be an effort for him. Even if it took nights, weekends, holidays, he was always determined and never annoyed. The only time she ever saw exhaustion like this was when he finished a case, as if those weeks and months of concentration were are suddenly released into the atmosphere, freeing their own master from the task.

"Why do you get depressed when you win a case?" she asked quietly, her voice almost a whisper, as if they were talking about some great secret he would only share if he was sure no undeserving ears would hear.

His eyes opened slowly, to stare back onto hers and she marveled for a second at their deep blue.

"I don't" he replied, but not with total conviction.

She continued to watch him, patiently, giving him time.

"I do?" he asked unsurely.

She smiled warmly.

"You get quiet. And contemplative. Even if you're out with your boys, you are in a corner nursing a beer" she stated her argument.

He dropped his gaze, furrowing his brows as he thought about what she said.

"Then you are quiet for days, distracted" she continued.

He frowned.

"You are making it seem like it's unreasonable. I am just tired is probably what it is" he brushed it off.

She nodded, not wanting to push for a confession.

He sighed again, his hand unconsciously caressing her arm.

"I'm proud of you, you know" she said quietly.

He looked at her confused.

"For what?" he asked.

"For winning. For doing well at what you do" she elaborated, suddenly worried about the fact she never said this out loud. Tristan didn't seem to need praising, he always seemed so confident, so sure.

He scoffed.

"I get people out of trouble" he said "that's not necessarily something to be proud of" he murmured as he gently started to push her off of him, ready to fleet the intimacy of sitting so close together.

She shoved him back into the armchair, staying in his lap and he stared up at her, shocked and amused at the same time.

"I. Am. Proud. Of. You" she repeated, emphasizing every word and she saw him swallow, his face becoming grave.

"And your family is too" she went on.

She felt him tense beneath her, his body suddenly becoming one compact muscle, ready to burst. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as if trying to calm his body.

"Tris" she nudged him quietly, suddenly feeling like she stumbled upon the explanation, upon one of his well kept secrets, one of his little tragedies he held buried deep in his soul.

He opened his eyes and pulled her closer suddenly, the action taking her by surprise. She felt his lips on hers, his kiss thorough, persistent, almost rough, his hands moving to her backside, to pull her even closer.

She knew in the back of her head that this was his way of dealing with all things 'too emotional' for him, to mask his pain with desire, to get over his vulnerability by being strong, demanding, sexual. She also knew there was no point in trying to change that. And to be perfectly honest, with his erection pushing against her core, his lips latching onto her neck and his arms snaking around her waist to pull her even closer, all plans to make him express his frustration any other way were out the window.

This was his release, this was his amendment, this was his prize and shrift all in one and she was his tool for it.

She felt herself lose focus as he pulled her down onto his lap, his breathing becoming ragged as he got lost in her scent and the feel of her smooth skin. Thoughts were hard to hold onto as she felt him lift her, his movements powerful, yet eternally gentle as he placed her on the desk. She felt her sight go hazy, her head feel dizzy as he pushed her back on the smooth, cold surface, clearing the way with his arms. She heard stacks of paper fall to the floor and she chuckled unable to ignore the cliché of the moment of him taking her on his cleared off desk in that dimmed office.

"What's so funny?" he murmured, his voice a deep growl and somehow that in itself was enough for her heartbeat to pick up again.

She could only whimper in response, as he attacked her with a new found determination, as if trying to punish her for her wandering mind. She felt his hands go to her waist, freeing her slowly of the old faded jeans she was wearing. She lifted her hip willingly and his hands pulled off her jeans, taking her shoes with them as well.

She wondered how it was even possible for him to undress her with a simple touch, by sheer will, as if he had over the years somehow mastered the art of commanding all her articles of clothing. As if he had made a secret pact with every pair of jeans and every new shirt, to fade away from her body when he wished it to disappear. His hands worked like magic and she suddenly realized that she was completely exposed while he was still fully clothed.

He stared at her bare body, his hand sliding over her smooth, white skin, marking her, claiming her.

"You are so gorgeous" he whispered, but she could hardly make out what he was saying, the sound of blood pumping in her ear was so loud.

She watched unable to move as he undid his belt buckle, pushing his pants and underwear down, letting them fall to the floor with a thud. He undid his own shirt buttons, discarding the article as well. He moved back closer to her again, leaning forward as his lips found her nipple, his hands going up to caress her breast as he sucked on it.

All his movements were urgent, demanding, and she suddenly felt an incredible urge to cry, to yell at herself for ever having the idiotic, wild, moronic hope that anyone else could touch her body like he could, that anyone else could own her like he could.

She let out a loud whimper, her back arching away from the surface of the desk, as he entered her, firmly and roughly, releasing a sigh that fueled her desire even more.

He became still, letting her catch her breath, even if they both knew she never would. She felt his hands hold onto her back firmly, his lips skimming over her skin as if he could map all of her with his rebounding breath.

She opened her eyes and that seemed to be all the encouragement he needed, starting a steady and mind numbing rhythm, rocking into her.

She let her head fall back and felt his hands slip out from behind her, coming to rest on her legs as he guided them upwards, to rest against his chest. She cried out, the new constellation allowing him more access, and she felt her own depths exposed as he thrust into her, hoarse grunts accompanying his movements. She felt exposed, lost and unable to control herself, incoherently pleading for him to go on.

She felt him gain stealth and momentum and he sped up, just as she was about to lose all control of her own senses. Her fingers sunk into his flesh and she let go with an uncensored cry of pleasure, her body shaking in a fast succession of convulsions.

She felt him groan loudly as she felt his release, his whole body tensing as he fell forward, tangling their limbs together.

There was sudden silence in the building and she could distinguish their raged breathing clearly, her fingers registering his racing pulse under his skin.

His hands snaked around her possessively and she felt him lay down next to her, onto his side, pulling her with him.

She chuckled, realizing his desk was massive enough to accommodate and support both of them.

"You know the constant chuckling is not doing wonders for my ego" he murmured between still ragged breaths, not opening his eyes.

She smiled widely, running her fingers through his messy blond hair.

"Sorry" she replied sheepishly "you did good, baby" she joked and his eyes snapped open in an expression of shock.

"Ohohoh, you watch it!" he said "I can take you again, right now and you're going to be so sore tomorrow, you'll never chuckle again" he warned.

"I think I already am going to be sore" she murmured and he furrowed his brows, concerned.

"I'm sorry" he mouthed, brushing hair away from her face, but she just smiled, trying to reassure him it was all alright.

"Did I...?" he paused uncertain.

"No" she cut him off.

"I think I might have been a bit... frustrated" he struggled with the words, caressing her arms.

She didn't answer, holding her breath for him to go on.

He sighed, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

She held him close, not pushing for any other explanations.

"You know... when I decided to... go to law school" he started, his voice such a quiet whisper, she had to hold her breath to understand "and I went to tell him... it was the most frustrating thing I ever had to go through".

She knew he was referring to his father. He never told her this story and now she wondered why.

"He was so arrogant, he had this look on his face, beaming with pride and I wanted to smack him. Because it was not his accomplishment, you know? I didn't want to do it to finally get him off my back, or to please him or make him proud or take on the family destiny" he went on, his voice bitter. She listened to him, part amazed and part scared, knowing it took a lot for Tristan to start talking about his family or his own feelings for that matter.

"I did it because it was the only thing I was good at. It was his fucking legacy after all, passed on in his genes" he scoffed and her heart was breaking for him.

"Tristan" she called out his name, her fingers tangling in his hair.

He looked up at her, the blue of his eyes slowly losing their tense frustration.

"You would have been good at anything" her voice shaking with emotion.

He smiled warmly, brushing back her hair.

"I mean it" she said "and your accomplishments are your own, expectations and genes aside, okay?"

"Okay" he mouthed, leaning in close to kiss her lazily.

She couldn't help but feel like her will to help was lost somewhere, because Tristan's scars were deeper than something a touch, a caress, a reassurance could heal. He seemed to manage fine anyway, carefully tucking back those rebellious feelings that managed to break to the surface through all the self control and calmness, every once in a while.

"I called your mother" he said calmly and she froze, knowing the sudden change of subject and the subject itself was exactly that, his process of tucking back his own insecurities to the hidden recesses of his soul.

She hated to admit she was weak enough to let him do that without a fight, but those four little words caused her to lose focus, her heart suddenly beating wildly again.

"What?" she mumbled.

"My voicemail was full, I had to do something about it" he chuckled.

"Oh god" she sighed.

"I made a deal with her" he said.

"Why am I sure this is going to be bad?" she asked frustrated.

"It's a bit of a compromise, but hey, you get Christmas in New York" he said smiling.

She looked at her squinting, knowing nothing could be quite as simple when it came to her mother.

"What's the catch?" she asked carefully.

He sighed.

"She gets Thanksgiving" he said apologetically.

"Of fuck" she cursed as he chuckled again "that's next weekend!"

"Yep" he replied.

"What did you get out of this?" she asked him accusingly.

"Uhm... I think a homemade knitted sweater with a turkey on it, but I am not sure, I tend to tune out when she rambles" he replied and she couldn't help but laugh.

"Seriously, what do you get out of it?" she asked.

He looked at her, his face becoming serious.

"You. Possibly happier" he said simply and she inhaled sharply knowing he was right.

There was a moment of silence and the reassuring afterglow seemed to turn into an awkward passing of seconds.

"Come on, you kinky. Ger dressed" he said getting up from the desk, his voice warm and affectionate.

"Oh, I am the kinky one?" she mumbled in indignation.

"Yeah, you always have to be jumping me in my office" he said carelessly as he pulled back his pants, fixing his belt.

"You wish" she brushed him off, gathering her discarded articles of clothing, carefully dressing herself.

"Yeah? What about the time you first came in here?" he asked, mocking her as he handed her her shirt.

"What about it?" she asked taken aback.

"You gave me a blow job" he shrugged.

"I did not!" she protested.

"Right there" he pointed to the chair behind his desk "in broad daylight" he went on with an annoying smirk on his face.

"You are sorely mistaken" she protested, putting on her shoes.

"I beg to differ" he countered "I don't forget blow jobs easily" he continued, putting on his suit and grabbing his suitcase as he moved towards the exit.

"You must have imagined it" she said following him.

"No baby, trust me, I didn't imagine cumming all over you, I had to lend you my sweater so you could leave the building" he replied and she gaped at him as they exited his office, flicking off the light switch as they passed through the door.

"You are delusional" she said holding back her smile.

"Couldn't work all week, I kept having flashbacks when I tried to sit down to get some work done" he said as they approached the elevator, walking in through the open door.

"Suits you right. You should have some restrain" she mumbled carelessly.

"Hah, so you admit it!" he smiled widely as the elevator doors slid shut.

"I admit nothing" she replied with a smile of her own.


	17. But now I'm found

"We could still leave, you know?"

Lorelai's voice was hopeful as she stood staring at the huge wooden door in her shimmery black dress that fell beneath her knees with stilettos and a black purse to match.

"Oh and just how are we going to get away with that?" Rory replied, standing next to her mother in her own party ensemble, the evening chill drawing goosebumps on her skin.

"Well, the roads are icy, I'm sure we could convince them that we just slipped off the road and were so traumatized by the incident that we are all getting treatment at a psychiatry ward" her mother offered, her well known tone flowing through the air.

"Right" Rory replied under her breath, not impressed.

"I'm freezing, aren't you two freezing?" Tristan asked, his voice optimistically lively, despite the chill. He stood on the other side of Rory, and she could tell it took a great effort for him to make the words come out playful enough to hide the hint of annoyance.

"Look, mister, this is all your fault, so you wait patiently until we consider all our options" Lorelai scolded, shooting Tristan an accusing look.

Rory glanced from one to the other, suddenly feeling like the parent of bickering children.

"How is this my fault?" Tristan asked, feigning innocence.

Rory sighed, knowing that was all the encouragement her mother needed.

"Excuse me? Who was the one who told Emily you two were coming home for Thanksgiving? And then who was the one who ratted me out by letting her know that I wasn't spending it at Liz with Luke?" she asked, her voice reaching dangerously high frequencies.

"I'm sorry, she asked, I couldn't lie" he replied, his voice grumpy.

"Couldn't lie? Couldn't lie? You are a lawyer for god's sake, lying's all you do!" Lorelai rambled.

"Mom" Rory tried to control her mother, but she knew full well it was no use.

To be perfectly honest, she wasn't too happy about having to attend her grandparents' Thanksgiving party . And the fact that her mother was there also didn't make things much easier. She came because, after all, it was still easier than trying to avoid the wrath of Emily Gilmore, but she had a hard time understanding why Tristan, master of avoiding unwanted family occasions, was so disenchanted as to walk into a trap of caviar and socialite chit-chat.

"Look, let's just ring the bell and get this over with" Tristan said sighing, his voice getting more and more impatient.

"There will be no ringing bells until we considered all possible excuses!" Lorelai said, stopping him, her voice dramatic.

Tristan sighed frustrated, muttering under his breath.

"I could say David got sick" Lorelai turned to Rory, her voice desperate and she could tell her mother was in full swing, putting on a whole show, for who knows whatever reason.

"Mom, it's not really nice to use your kid for that" Rory sighed, bouncing the ball right back to her.

"I used you for that all the time!" Lorelai replied.

"Makes me feel special" she murmured, tucking a strand of flowing brunette hair behind her ears.

"I could say I am not comfortable with Luke taking care of him for the night" Lorelai tried again.

"Yeah, that would be real smart, make them think that Luke is unable to take care of his own child" Rory pointed out, her voice becoming annoyed as well.

"Damn" Lorelai cursed quietly.

"Okay, this is ridiculous" Tristan said, apparently fed up with the procrastinating, stepping ahead to ring the bell.

"No! That is not how we do it! That's not the Gilmore tradition" Lorelai said with mock shock.

"Yeah, it's the DuGray way: get in, do your thing, get out as fast as you can" he replied, glancing back at Lorelai as he assumed his previous waiting position.

"Pfff. And you are enjoying sex with this guy?" Lorelai murmured.

"Mom" Rory scolded her mother again just as the door opened.

"Lorelai, Rory, Tristan, at last" Emily greeted them standing in the doorway dressed in an impeccable Channel costume.

Rory looked at her grandmother, who was examining them within seconds, no doubt evaluating whether they were decent enough for the wonderful occasion.

"What took you so long?" she asked sweetly, but she noticed the underlying accusation.

"Our apologies Emily" Tristan stepped inside, his hand squeezing Emily's arm in greeting "the roads were very slippery, I drove slowly just to make sure we get here in one piece" he said, shooting Lorelai a look.

"Oh, how responsible of you" Emily replied beaming "please, come inside" she added and turned to walk in to the foyer that was loud from chatter.

Tristan followed her, Lorelai right behind her.

Rory took a deep breath, the last of the clean, light air, bracing herself for the evening ahead as she followed the others into the house.

"Tristan dear, your parents are already here" Emily said turning to him, her voice candy sweet.

"Oh are, they?" he asked, and she recognized his society smile, with his society demeanor.

"In that case, I am gonna go find them to say hi. Why don't you ladies get some drinks?" he said, turning to Rory and kissing her lightly on the cheek, while he gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.

She smiled at him then watched him disappear into the unusually big crowd, happy that she could hit the bar, instead of making the rounds with him.

"Wow mom, quite a huge crowd this year, huh?" Lorelai asked, eloquently.

"Well, this whole party was going to be at the club, but they canceled on me in the last moment because of some plumbing emergency" Emily explained as she guided the girls towards the bar through the crowd "so we had to move the whole thing in here, which is ridiculous, but at least it gave me a reason to cancel on Constance Bedderton" she added, her voice content.

"How I wish to be Constance" Lorelai murmured under her breath.

"What's that now?" Emily asked, her eyebrow shooting up.

"I said, how nice of the caterer to still do the gig" she said, smiling a fake smile.

"Of course they will do it, we pay them a fortune" Emily said.

"Right. A vodka martini please" Lorelai said, reaching the bar.

"I'll have the same" Rory added, her voice quiet.

"Rory, darling how are things at the paper?" Emily asked turning towards her and Rory felt herself freeze.

She almost forgot the fact that she had not yet told her grandparents of her impulsive decision and she suddenly didn't know how to start. She looked around, absent minded, secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of Tristan, but he disappeared into the crowd and she felt alone, unable to speak.

"Oh" she said, trying to gain time and strength "the paper?"

"Yes. The Times. Have you gotten any interesting assignments lately?" Emily asked, her voice peremptory.

Rory saw from the corner of her eye Lorelai taking a sip of her freshly acquired drink, her face troubled.

"Actually, grandma, I've been meaning to tell you that I quit the Times" she said, her words coming out in a fast succession.

There was silence, despite the loud conversations and light music, there was heavy silence that seemed to settle in over the three Gilmore women. Rory glanced around nervously as her grandmother stared at her, with the icy gaze that made her blood freeze. She'd seen that stare one too many times and it rarely meant anything good.

"What?" she asked, and Rory noticed how she kept her voice low as she glanced around the room nervously.

Rory almost felt sorry for her in that second and she wished there were a button to pause the conversation, to fast forward or skip altogether, or even to postpone it to some undefined time, but she knew there was no backing down now.

"I have been thinking about doing something else for a long time now and I realized that I wasn't happy at the paper" she explained, formulating her words carefully, as if any words she could have chosen would tame Emily's imminent indignation.

"But it's the New York Times" Emily replied incredulous "it's what you've always wanted!"

She saw the same fear, same panic in her grandmother's eyes that she saw in Tristan's and Lorelai's, or anyone else's for that matter.

"Yeah, well I'm not sure I want that anymore" she replied, her voice strong, yet quiet.

She glanced at her mother who gave her a reassuring smile and she reciprocated wryly.

"Did you know about this?" Emily turned to Lorelai, her anger seeping through her controlled demeanor.

"Uhm, no, actually, no. I knew about her joining the circus and having the illegitimate love child of Tom Jones, but this I did not know" she said, her voice annoyed.

"How could you let her do that?" Emily asked, her eyes shooting sparks.

Rory saw as her mother stopped for a minute, as if pondering something, her blue eyes saddened for a fraction of a second.

"She can do whatever she wants to do. She is a grown woman and smarter than all of us put together, she knows what she's doing" she replied, her demeanor calm.

Emily huffed and looked form Rory to Lorelai, before storming off into the crowd.

Rory sighed, taking a big gulp from her drink.

"Wow" she said "thanks for that" she said quietly, sneaking a peek at her mother who was staring after her own mother, in what seemed like deep concentration.

"I... just realized she said the exact same things to you that I did when I found out" Lorelai said, her face frozen in shock.

Rory sighed, realizing it was true.

"Rory, I am so sorry" she heard her mother say and she looked up to see genuine concern in her eyes "I was shocked and scared for you and I acted like a crazy, controlling mother. I acted like Emily Gilmore. I am Emily Gilmore" she cried, her voice getting hysterical.

"You are not" Rory laughed, tension breaking from her chest in small fits of giggles.

She saw her mother's lips curl into a smile, reflecting her own sad one.

"I'm sorry" Lorelai repeated, her voice a whisper, and her face hurt and she looked at her again, feeling tears sting the back of her eyes as she recognized the momentum, a small resurrection in a way.

"It's okay" she mouthed as her mother pulled her into a strong hug. She felt the smooth touch of her mother's satin dress, her own layers of chiffon rumpling against the strong, revitalizing hold. She exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding, her body suddenly resting after a long period of alertness, of worry and disappointment.

She put her arms around her, enjoying the warmth and comfort she felt, happy to be feeling the security she only felt in her mother's arms.

She opened her eyes, blinking the tears away and she spotted his familiar blue eyes from across the room. He stood out from the crowd, watching them from afar and she suddenly knew he was watching all along, knowing exactly what transpired. He stood with a faint smile on his face and she knew she recognized that look of his. It was pride.

xxxxxxxxx

"You planned all of this" she said catching him off guard.

Her voice rang out surprisingly loud in the quiet of the darkened garden.

He had sneaked out for his obligatory break to clear his head and she found him easily, knowing this is where he usually hid at parties like this, when his jaw had frozen into a permanent smile.

"Hey" he greeted her, pulling her into a hug and giving her a kiss, the first real kiss of the evening, now that all eyes weren't on them constantly. She sighed, inhaling his scent, feeling the strong arms around her and his warmness slowly enveloping her.

"Planned what?" he asked as he pulled away slightly to be able to look at her.

His face was unnerved, his lines smooth, but the glint of his eyes gave him away.

"The whole thing. Us coming here. Me having to break it to my grandmother while my mom was there so she could see her reaction" she said, studying his face and noticing the small smirk on his face that appeared slowly.

"Hmm. That sounds like an elaborate plan" he said smiling "and no barbed wire" he added.

She sighed, her suspicions confirmed. She buried her head into his chest, letting him hug her closely.

"Why did you do that?" she asked, her voice small, affected "you don't even like my mother".

He sighed and she could tell without even seeing his face that his expression became serious.

"But you do. You love her. And I wish she could be more appreciative of that" he stated simply, the chronic hurt in his voice apparent to her.

She couldn't say for sure if he was right, but he seemed to be insistent in his opinion. That her mother indeed took her for granted. She liked to think that it wasn't something unintentional and unnoticed, but rather a simple trait in character, something as Lorelaian as wacky banter and excessive need for caffeine.

She didn't want to talk about that though. She suddenly felt the drama for the night had been enough and that if she could instantly be back in her bed, preferably with those stilettos on her heels banished far into the dark corners of her closet, she would fall asleep at once, happy to have put this evening behind her, even with all the breakthroughs and whatnots.

"You running for some kind of 'Best Boyfriend Award'?" she asked, breaking the serious mood and she watched him look out into the garden, chuckling silently.

"Yeah, I got a lead on Brad Whitford. It should be in the bag with this stunt" he said, playing along.

"I don't know, I hear Brad took Jessica on a surprise shopping spree last weekend" she said, leaning into him as she turned to watch the dark garden with him.

"Amateur" he scoffed and she couldn't help but laugh herself, loving their comedic chemistry.

"You tired?" he asked, his voice concerned.

She smiled, looking back up at him.

"I could hit the sack" she replied, arching an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah?" he asked, guiding her towards the main house "You wanna get your mom and sneak out?"

"I think she's already in the car, keeping the motor running" she replied.

They reached the large doors of the house and she stepped in through them, looking around to take a look at the crowd. It was still dense, but she could tell some people have already left.

"I'm gonna get your coats" he whispered in her ear from behind "why don't you go find Lorelai and I'll meet you guys up front?"

"Sounds like a plan" she smiled gratefully, as he kissed the top of her shoulder that was uncovered by her dress.

She blushed slightly, the small gesture sending shivers down her spine and she couldn't help the huge smile spreading on her face as she looked after his departing form.

She felt like a schoolgirl, giddy and happy and she had to take a breath to try to control her smile as she looked around, suddenly feeling silly and also as though their moment had been spied on. Her heart stopped when she felt someone's stare on her.

She looked towards the origin of the brown pair of eyes looking in her direction and she recognized the face that adorned them. The blond woman stood watching her, not bothering to divert her eyes when Rory's gaze met hers. It was Anna, she remembered, and she felt a sudden rush of guilt in her abdomen, watching the other woman look at her, with the proud and reproachful expression of the vanquished.

xxxxxxxxxx

There was something about Sunday afternoons in the city. The way time seemed to float undetermined, without a straight forward usual goal, creating an airless time loop for them to take comfort in. When even though it's obvious time passes, because numbers flash on the clock by the bed and light fades outside, it doesn't seem to leave a trace, it doesn't seem to stir panic, or motivate extraordinary things to happen.

His hand moved down her sides slowly, his fingers firmly tracing her outlines, his lips trailing small kisses on her neck. Her hair, getting long now, spilled all around them, the scent of her shampoo mixing with freshly washed cotton, denim, rough against her skin as she was reminded of just how she could make his body react.

His hand snaked back up to her head, fingers burying themselves into her hair and he pulled her close, kissing her with a quiet determination that made her lightheaded. She heard herself whimper.

She was sure he was the only one that could induce that specific whimper. Sure, the flutter happened before, and the blush, the ragged breathing, moans, sighs, all of that. But the way he seemed to command her, guide her, be able to own her, no one else did that.

She never told him. Partly because it would have felt like a trashy romance novel, declaring to your man that no one ever made you loose it like him, but partly because, like all men, Tristan did not like to be reminded she'd been touched before. He wasn't stupid, he was aware you don't get to the point in your sex life where she was at, with just holding hands and kissing. And maybe in some ways he was grateful for the men who'd come before him, but he did not like to be reminded.

He didn't once ask her about the time they were apart. Whether she'd met anyone, gone out with anyone, slept with anyone. She wasn't sure it didn't matter to him, but she was sure he wasn't willing to have a conversation about it.

Part of her retaliated. The hopelessly female part of her. The part that argued that men should be able to talk about stuff like this, that hidden questions only caused problems, and that anything unearthed would lead to better understanding and deeper connection. In short, the naive part of her. The part she herself didn't quite manage to come to terms with.

"What did you tell Anna?" her voice came like someone else's, like she was watching a movie, that took a mouth gaping turn, the rattle of popcorn suddenly stopping throughout the audience.

She could feel him freeze, her neck suddenly feeling cold without the steady warmness of his breath.

He moved slowly, to look into her face, his eyes cautious, careful and confused.

"When you left?" she elaborated, in case he didn't know what she meant.

"What?" he blinked dumbfounded.

"That girl that you took to my grandparents' party..." she started to explain.

"I know who you're talking about, I just don't know why" he said, his voice defensive as he rolled off the bed.

See, this is not what women want when they pose questions like this, she thought to herself. They don't want awkwardness, or freak outs, or defensiveness. Just simple conversations, performed at an intimate distance, to be able to let the other person know that whatever the subject is, it doesn't cause drifts, hard feelings, problems.

Men don't seem to be able to have serious conversations while touching. They want distance, because distance is a defense, distance is clarity, distance is a tool.

She thought about this as she followed his form with her eyes. He walked out of the bedroom and she could practically hear him muttering.

She lay motionless on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, knowing he'd return without her pushing.

"How..." she heard his confused voice and she looked towards the door to see him leaning against the door frame with a bottle of water in his hand "does this come out of your head when we are..." he trailed off, gesturing towards the bed.

"I'm sorry" she whispered, not really knowing what she was apologizing for.

"I mean, way to kill the mood" he groaned.

"Why does it kill the mood?" she asked, truthfully.

He scoffed.

"Are you kidding me?" he asked and she furrowed her brows, trying to grasp why this would disturb him so much.

"You want to talk about third parties while I'm trying to get you off?" he asked, incredulous.

"You weren't exactly at the point of getting me off" she pointed out, although she sensed this wasn't necessarily her best possible argument.

"I was going to" he said with mock indignation, and she sensed the playfulness in his voice, relieved he wasn't going to force them into a full blown argument.

"I got you to whimper and everything" he added sitting down on the bed.

She chuckled, amused by the fact he unconsciously knew what she had been thinking.

"Rory" he said, his voice determined, serious "nothing... she didn't matter".

"I know that" she cut him off "that's not what I asked".

He turned back to look at her confused.

"I asked you what you told her" she stated simply.

He stared at her for a couple of seconds, and she couldn't help feeling like he was a deer caught in the headlights.

"Please explain why this is important..." he tried one last time, seemingly desperate.

"It's not, I was just trying to have a conversation. Geez, I am not interrogating" she scoffed.

He raised an eyebrow to mock her.

"Whatever. I just don't see why you're making such a scene if she wasn't important" she mumbled.

He sighed, closing his eyes.

"Things were going so well, I did the fingers in the hair move and everything" he mumbled in mock concentration and she couldn't help letting out another chuckle.

He sighed again and moved back to his previous position on the bed, laying next to her, mirroring her actions in staring at the ceiling.

"Ahh" he started, seemingly concentrating on recapturing the memory "I think I told her that I had to go" he said, obviously pained having to reenact the scene.

"Was she disappointed?" she asked, her voice suddenly going into reporter mode.

"I... I guess" he murmured.

"Why?" she asked, genuine interest in her voice.

"God" he groaned, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose "I don't know, because I turned her down?"

"Did she offer herself?" she asked, her voice calm as ever.

There was a silence, not the shameful one, but the contemplative.

"Yeah, I guess... she was pretty willing" he replied, his words solemn and she turned to see his face contemplative.

"Are you sorry you didn't take up on her offer?" she asked, her voice strangely professional.

He furrowed his brows, turning on his side to be able to face her.

"No" he said shaking his head to prove his point "Rory, I told you this before" he said, stressing her name "I couldn't go through with it because there wouldn't have been a point to".

"Why?" she asked and she heard her voice faltering.

"Because I was in love with you. Anything that could have happened would have made that painfully obvious" he said, his voice quiet, serious.

She listened to those words and felt the lump in her throat forming, tears threatening to fall.

"Tristan, I have to tell you something..." she started, but he cut her off, closing his eyes.

"Please don't" he said, and his voice was surprisingly calm.

"But" she tried again, tears rolling down her cheeks, the pain and shame in her chest taking control of her body.

"Rory" he said, pulling her close "it doesn't matter anymore, okay?" he said, his hands wiping the tears from her face.

"But" she stuttered, but she felt him pull her into his chest hushing her.

"I don't care. I don't care" he repeated, like a mantra.

"I am sorry I was so horrible to you" she sobbed.

"Shhh" he hushed her, rocking her gently "you were lost, Mary" he whispered, and the endearment calmed her, making her believe it really didn't matter, that it really was over and done with, a bad dream, that would haunt them for only a little while longer until they both forgot it ever existed.


	18. Faraway, so close

Tristan walked out of his office building, annoyed at the sight of the noon crowd. Living in New York City meant a constant confrontation with the mob of vacationers and apparently it was always vacation time somewhere.

He maneuvered his way through the crowd to be able to turn the corner to walk down to the small diner hidden between the large skyscrapers.

He breathed in deep, enjoying the way the cool air seemed to burn his lungs. It helped clear his head and shake off the warm comfort of the office that he was sure slowly destroyed every ounce of toughness left in his body. Hell, he would have jogged to the diner just to flex his muscles, if the Armani clad runner wouldn't have made a laughing spectacle out of him.

Instead he walked as brisk as possible, his muscles remembering the early morning jog that he still stuck to, even if it was now pitch dark and pretty darn cold when he got up each morning. He did it though, because he felt strangely good working up a sweat. With goals like that - run a mile, run three, run ten - it was hard to fail, and clear to see. With everything else, life wasn't as straight forward. He missed the uncomplicated physical goals in life. He chuckled as he recognized the nostalgic feelings that rushed him regarding military school. Who would have thought that he'd miss parts of it.

He looked both ways before crossing the street coming to stand in front of the window of the diner. It had become a custom for them, to have an early lunch together before Rory would start her shift at the coffee shop a couple of blocks away. It was now the beginning of December, the last couple of weeks passing them by in a steady rhythm.

He focused on her, sitting at the table by the window on a bar chair, immersed in thought as she scribbled away on a piece of paper. He stared for a moment, a different type of nostalgia hitting him, seeing her write. He hadn't seen her do that since she showed up at his place declaring she'd quit the Times. He didn't bug her about it, figuring she needed some time away, the way top athletes needed a break after conquering the world championship. But seeing her now, like that, her eyes shining with a feverish determination as she bit her lower lip slightly, he wondered how she'd gone this far without writing.

He took a deep breath and pushed the door of the diner open, stepping in as the welcoming bell rang marking his entrance.

He reached her table and kissed the top of her head, disturbing her peace. She looked up confused, hiding the piece of paper she'd been scribbling on.

"Hey" he greeted her, sitting down next to her "what are you working on?" he asked, his voice strangely optimistic.

She shrugged.

"Christmas list" she replied "you're not supposed to see" she continued with a coy smile.

She smiled at him, leaning in to kiss him and he felt a strange hope that she'd been lying.

He watched as she stuffed the paper into her bag, turning to him once again.

"I ordered the ham sandwich for you, if you don't mind" she said.

"Ham's fine" he sighed, taking a sip from the soda that was already waiting for him.

"You seem tired" she noted.

"I'm not tired enough" he mumbled and she looked at him with a curious smile.

"Nevermind. What do you have planed for today, young lady?" he diverted the subject.

"Well" she said, using a dramatic voice "I have an extremely interesting afternoon shift coming up, hopefully with neurotic customers and wet dogs thrown into the mix".

"Wet dogs?" he asked, not following.

"Remember how this one customer brought in three dogs when it was raining last week and they broke their leash and I had to chase them through the shop?" she laughed.

"Right" he said not particularly impressed, remembering the evening she told him the story, in an animated fashion.

"You sure, you're okay?" she asked, her voice worried.

He sighed, nodding, forcing out a smile to prove his point.

"You have to work this much?" he asked, out of the blue. She turned to her arching an eyebrow.

"I don't work that much" she replied.

"You're in there six days a week" he countered.

"Well, only if the others can't take the shift" she reasoned, her demeanor getting defensive.

"You are too nice to them" he scoffed "you don't have to take their shifts".

"I don't mind. Mornings are free. And I can use the money. Tips aren't as good as you would expect from these snotty New Yorkers" she replied playfully, seemingly desperate to lighten the mood.

"You don't need the pay" he replied offhand, noting the sudden silence that followed.

"I have rent" she replied, and he could tell her tone was weary.

"You could move in, you're practically living with me anyways" he said and this time the silence was longer, more uncomfortable.

He turned to her, studying her face, checking for signs of panic.

She stared at her own soda.

"I don't want to be an incon..." she started to mumble, but gave up, probably realizing the absurdity of the excuse as Tristan looked at her accusingly.

He scoffed and turned around glancing at the kitchen to check if their order was arriving any time soon. He didn't have such luck.

"Tristan" he heard her careful voice "I..." she trailed off and he closed his eyes.

"You want an escape route" he said with a bittersweet smile.

"No" she cut him off "I just didn't want to push my luck" she said.

He looked at her not understanding.

She sighed, obviously feeling uncomfortable.

"Look, I didn't feel like I had the right to bring that up" she finally blurted out, and he could swear she was blushing as she turned away, trying to hide her face.

"You have been thinking about moving back?" he asked, his voice masking his hidden hope.

She shrugged.

"You said it, I practically live there" she mumbled.

He took a deep breath, suddenly feeling bad about accusing her, when it was obviously hard for her to talk about things like that.

"I'm sorry" he said furrowing his brows as he felt the tart taste of regret.

"No" she shrugged again "I mean it's silly, I just feel like I don't have the right to bring up stuff like that" she repeated herself.

"Hey" he said pulling her close "you have the right, okay?"

She swallowed hard, her face troubled.

"Okay" she mumbled.

The waiter disturbed them, setting their order in front of them on the table.

She pulled away, making room for the ham sandwiches.

"We'll get your stuff tonight" he said as the waiter left and another uncomfortable silence settled over them.

Rory looked up at him with a worried expression.

"Are you sure?" she whispered.

He touched her face, caressing it lightly.

"Yeah" he said.

He watched as she blushed slightly and it all felt wonderful for a second, as if the two of them really were making a small, but significant step in a fresh relationship and not passing some undefinable point during their roller coaster of a ride.

"Please don't take any extra shifts" he said, breaking the silence, his voice pleading, soft.

"I don't mind, Tristan, you've been pulling late nights anyway, I would just be waiting for you at home" she explained.

"You could be doing other things, Rory" he sighed.

"Like what?" she asked, seemingly genuinely curious.

"I don't know" he laughed "see friends, redecorate, go to museums, read books, write them" he listed the options, not entirely kidding.

She brushed him off with a laugh, turning to her sandwich.

"I mean it" he said after a moment of silence, his voice turning serious.

She looked at him, her eyes worried.

"Don't you miss it?" he asked.

"Miss what?" she asked, her voice uneasy.

"Writing" he replied simply.

"No" she replied, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

He raised an eyebrow trying to show he saw through her.

"Maybe I wasn't supposed to do writing" she said, her voice defensive.

He sighed wearily and disenchanted, as if that one breath he let out could rid him of all those uneasy feelings that seemed to be settling in on him ever since they got back together.

It was an effort, a true effort to watch her slowly throw away all the accomplishments she'd worked for. He did it because he knew that was his part, his task at hand, and because he knew that she deserved unconditional love and support, even if it was hard to give, even if it made him frustrated and unnerved.

He would lay in bed, watching her through the darkness, trying to decipher the invisible signs that her body exuded, as if he could collect them and translate them, into readable reasons, that would help him figure out a way to make her sound again. It wasn't just the fact that she gave up on something, even if it was scary in itself: Rory Gilmore giving up something. It was that he didn't see her getting better because of it. If it would have lifted some invisible weight off her shoulders, if it would have made her more loose, more content, he would have let it all happen, he would have let her work at a freaking coffee shop for the rest of their lives. But he knew it didn't. It made her numb, it made her reserved, an calm even in some way, but he could tell it didn't make her happy.

And finally it was worry. Not just for her, but for himself. He was worried that this was just a process of her slowly fading. Away from life, from work, from him. He was worried that this was a pathomechanism, that he would only be able to see clearly in hindsight, when it would be too late.

"I'm gonna go back" he said slowly, pushing away his untouched food.

She watched him with what looked like quiet worry as he rose from his chair.

He leaned in, kissing her head lightly, the same way he greeted her, and she didn't protest, obviously knowing when to leave him be.

He walked out of the diner, the cold air outside now not just burning, but stinging and bruising his lungs. He walked through the crowd, the people slowly fading into a colorful blur around him, as the noise of the city seemed to mix into one robust hurricane of sounds.

He came to a sudden halt, his ears deaf to the sounds, his skin immune to the cold, and he looked up towards the white sky, unconsciously obeying some silent call.

The first snowflakes landed on his face.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He closed the door behind him, tossing his key onto the table standing by the entrance, not bothering to put on the lights. He listened to the quiet of the apartment for a minute, his eyes adjusting to the dim light.

He looked around the apartment noting the subtle changes of the last couple of weeks.

There were books. Not his neatly lined up new editions, but her ones, of different shapes and sizes and origins, left carelessly around the apartment, half read, re-read, over-read. And her clothes. Not in piles of messy heaps like he was used to seeing in Stars Hollow, but uncomfortably abandoned articles nevertheless. He never quite knew how to handle them. Were they used? Ready for laundry? They never smelled used. They smelled like Rory. Vanilla and purity and incomprehensible lust in one. There were pieces of paper. Always. Even know. Lists, notes, mostly for everyday life. 'Pick up laundry' or 'Make appointment with dentist'.

There were signs of Rory's capricious shopping habits. Ball point pens. A bunch of flowers. A bag of Tootsie Rolls. He even spotted a styrofoam coffee cup.

These objects were not enough to make a certified mess, but he could tell it anyways: slowly, but surely chaos was seeping back into his apartment, back into his life.

The knowledge gave him some deep, indescribable joy warming his frozen body from the inside.

"Hey" she said, looking at him strangely and he realized he'd been standing in the middle of the living room studying the setting for long minutes.

"Hey" he replied, fixing his eyes on her. Her clothes were wet, her hair towel dried, her face pink hued from the cold outside and he could tell she just got in.

The two of them stared at each other for a long moment and he felt a foreign buzzing in his limbs.

"It's snowing" she said, her voice full of some childish amazement he knew only she and her mother could possess when it came to the first signs of winter.

He smiled a knowing smile, studying her movements carefully. Her breathing was faster than usual, more shallow and her hands were slightly shaking, as if the cold precipitate outside had awoken something within her, stirring up her insides and igniting her thoughts.

"Didn't you have work?" he asked, and his voice was careful, almost silent, as if he were talking to a startled beast, trying to calm it enough as to avoid an attack.

She didn't answer right away, swallowing hard.

"I called in sick" she finally said, turning away form his gaze slightly.

He held his breath, knowing this had to mean something, this had to be for a reason, this had to prove she was thinking again, feeling, on the brink.

"It's incredible when it comes..." she started, and her voice rang out loud and clear, seemingly making sense for the first time in such a long time, it gave him goosebumps "every time, I am reminded of the first time I saw this city in snow. It's incredible how the color, or the feel of it, or the smell can take you back" she paused for a moment and he wished he could melt into his surroundings, his apartment's stylish walls in order to not disturb her, in order to not block this stream of honesty that seemed to break to the surface from deep within her.

"And it feels like another life, because I must have been another person. I was younger and so eager to be alone and in quiet, so eager to hear my own thoughts, and the city seemed to be a refuge, a hidden labyrinth of quiet streets only for those who needed the space to get lost and to think. Have you ever noticed how it can feel like you are stuck back in time somewhere when you're walking in some part of town? Like parts of it are just from another time altogether?"

"I walked today, and it felt like that first winter, when I came here, suddenly, without a job, or an opportunity. Just some unreasonable dedication and irrational feeling of knowing this is what I had to do. God I was so full of hope! Was it only four years ago? It's impossible" she laughed, distracted for a minute.

He felt his heartbeat pick up as he watched and waited for her to go on.

"I lost all of that, didn't I?" she said suddenly, her voice becoming small, lost.

"No" he said carefully "you just lost sight of it" he added unsurely, his voice quiet.

"It felt so much easier back then, I had all these thoughts and" she went on, her voice frustrated "I had a... voice".

He took a sharp intake of breath, watching her frustrated expression, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she stood, breathing heavily in the middle of the room.

He took a step towards her, his hand reaching out to clasp around hers. He ignored her confused expression as he pulled her with him, heading towards the study that was hardly used anymore. It used to be Rory's favorite room, full of books and an old desk that reminded her of Yale's library desks.

He pulled her after him, coming to stop in the doorway of that room, as if an invisible force field were holding her back. He looked at her slowly as she stared at her laptop sitting on the top of the desk, under the huge window.

She turned to him, a questioning look on her face. He guided her inside the room, himself not taking the step inside.

"Write" he said simply, staring at her confused face.

She scoffed, slightly incredulous.

"I don't think this is how it works, Tristan" she mumbled, burying her face in her hands in frustration.

"It does" he replied, determined.

She looked up, shock evident on her face.

He took a deep breath, knowing this was his chance, this was her chance, this was the moment in time when everything could be lured back onto the right track, because god knows it was time.

"Rory, you have a voice. You always had a voice" he said, his voice calm and cool, his face frozen in icy determination "You sit down and let it come out. I don't care if it takes you hours or days, or if takes all your sanity and all your strength. You sit down and write".

"Write what?" she asked, her voice shaking from anger.

"I don't care" he shot back, his voice matching her emotions "You write what you just told me, you write about New York, or snow, or what it all fucking feels like. You write about your mother, or me or you or growing up or disillusion and disappointments. You write whatever comes out, because it has to".

He turned around, swallowing the incredible urge to comfort her, pulling the door shut behind him. He rested his body against the door, part expecting her to tear the door open and dash out like a hurricane, but there was no noise coming from inside the study.

He took a quite breath and prayed that was a good thing.

xxxxxx

He stretched, stirring from sleep, and his head, dull with dreams scattering slowly in the quiet of the room, was slowly clearing. He made out some sounds, that no doubt had been the reason for his waking up and he concentrated on them, blinking repeatedly to try to regain his sight. His eyes adjusted to the dark of the room and he could now identify the noise as steps coming towards the bedroom. He saw her appear in the doorway, her form illuminated by the dim light coming from somewhere in the apartment.

"Hey" he murmured, his voice groggy from sleep as he sat up, supporting his weight on his hands.

She stopped in the doorway and he squinted his eyes, unable to make out her expression.

The events of the evening registered in his mind and he glanced at the clock on the nightstand, realizing it had been 5 hours since he forced her into the study and about two since he must have drifted off to sleep waiting for her in the bedroom, not wanting to disturb her.

He couldn't tell for sure if she was working or just sitting in that room thinking, but he had hope and a quiet excitement inside his body. He moved around the apartment silently, as if afraid that all noise would make her lose her concentration, if in fact she had any in there.

He held his breath and the two stared at each other in the dark of the room. He saw her move towards him, her movements rushed.

He swallowed as she climbed onto the bed, moving to straddle him.

He had no time to think as he felt her lips on his, her mouth opening instantly and her tongue asking for permission. He groaned, allowing her access, his hand going around her back to hold her close to him. Her kiss was rough, fast and for a moment he scolded himself for not being strong enough to be more perceptive when it came to understanding what was happening. Truth was, when Rory was like this, imperative and peremptory, it was hard to resist, or think even.

Truth was, her skin was like velvet and her warmth contagious, her hair flowing and tingling and her shy, soft mouth enragingly sensual. Her small hands were persistent and they danced on his skin, setting fire to every part of his body.

He felt his erection grow by the second and he knew she was determined as she ground into his lap. He broke the kiss, dropping his head back to let out a long groan, feeling blood rush to certain parts of his body.

He heard her ragged breathing and felt her hands go under his shirt, slowly pealing it off of him. He let her do it, laying back on the bed as she moved over his body, undressing him.

He exhaled, letting her take his pants off as he closed his eyes, giving full control to her.

His eyes snapped open as he felt the warm confine of her wet mouth around his cock.

"Holly shit" he muttered, his hands going to her shoulders, taking all his strength to pull her off of him and up to level with him.

She let out a little sound of protest and he couldn't help but chuckle at the fact that she got especially demanding and controlling when she wanted sex to be a distraction.

"Hey" he whispered "what is this?" he asked, taking all his might to control himself.

There was a couple of seconds of silence and he could faintly make out the small smile that crept onto her face as they watched each other, from merely inches away.

"I love you" she said and he froze.

The room seemed to spin around him even though he thought he got the last remnants of grogginess out of his head seconds ago. He felt his own heartbeat, registering every pulse wave traveling through every part of his body, and he held his breath as if the world was threatening to melt into nothing around him.

The words reverberated inside his head and he felt his muscles tense.

He was overwhelmed and taken aback, his body remembering with painful nostalgia how many times he'd heard these words and spoke them before... before it all collapsed around them.

He had to rebuild his world, his sanity, every brick placed there by excruciating effort and determination, and 'I love you's were not a part of the mortar.

Tristan wasn't one for verbal declarations of love. Not because he was insecure or too manly for them. But simply because he thought it didn't give the cause justice.

Words were never his fort. He mastered their system, able to use them in his work to fabricate arguments no one could contradict, but when it came to expressing what it felt like to wake up next to someone you want to spend the rest of your life with, to express your mirth and anxiety and flurry about being around them and feeling that security, he thought words were underrated and overused. So he rarely used them. The times he did say it, he wanted to feel like it meant something.  
The fact he hadn't, nor did she, showed just how unratable this term had become to him and to the both of them.

But now, her words ringing soft and true in the quiet of the night, it shattered the last of his resistance. He knew he was unguarded and unprotected when it came to her and he realized there was no need for security. This was his fate and his path and no matter where it lead, there was no point in trying to protect himself. He was back here at her mercy because there was no other place he could have ended up.

He sighed, feeling the tension break from his chest as he heard her repeat the sentiment and he closed his eyes, unable to contain the feelings taking over his senses. He felt her guide him inside her and he groaned out again as she melted into his hold, whispering in his ear. He felt the warm darkness envelop him, dissolving the last of his being into the air around them. Her quiet mantra rang in his ears and he let his body be lost to her wonder, to her power, to her command.


	19. Screaming underneath

She concentrated on the screen in front of her, the blinking cursor guarding the finished paragraph with finality. She scanned over the words and released a breath carefully.

She was astonished at how easily the words came. She would sit down, having only one sentence in her head, or a couple of words, and by the time her fingers managed to push the necessary buttons on the keyboard, the rest of the words and sentences followed, rushing past her and onto the screen as though her mind was a vessel, a secret connection between some hidden storage of feelings and thoughts.

And as easily as it came, it would stop. Suddenly she would stare at the blinking cursor, unable to write anything more, unable to pick up the rhythm, unable to get back into that particular line of thought. As if the paragraphs were sudden revelations, uncontrollable, and untraceable.

She felt a shiver run down her spine and she turned around to see him stare at her.

He was leaning against the door frame, his face slightly pale from having probably just arrived into the warm apartment, from the cold street. His eyes were contemplative and content at the same time and she felt embarrassed, realizing he must have been watching her for minutes.

"Don't do that, it's creepy" she half joked.

"Sorry" he replied in a raspy voice, releasing a chuckle.

There was silence and she turned around again, studying his form. He hadn't moved and she remembered how he rarely stepped inside the study since she had started writing again. As if he were careful not to disturb not just her work, but her whole space, concentration and inspiration.

"You're home early" she said, her voice warm, giddy almost.

"Yeah" he mouthed "we're invited to dinner" he finished, his face distorted into a frown.

She furrowed her brows, trying to identify what he was referring to.

"Paris and Doyle?" he pointed out.

"Oh wow" she said, realization dawning "that's today?" she asked incredulous.

"Look, I could call, tell them I had to work late if you want to keep writing" he offered eagerly.

"No. No" she shook her head "I just completely forgot" she laughed.

"I wish I could too" he murmured, taking off his coat.

She watched as he disappeared from the doorway and she got up from her chair, shutting her laptop before walking after him.

She caught up in the kitchen, sitting down by the table as she watched him taking out a bottle of water from the fridge.

"We haven't seen them since Halloween" she pointed out, reasoning with him.

"Uh-huh" he affirmed between gulps of water, his face showing no signs of conviction and she smiled at his reluctance.

"You like Paris" she reminded him.

"I don't know, do I?" he wondered, his face in mock concentration.

She laughed.

"Yeah, and Doyle makes you laugh" she went on, listing off the reasons.

"Hmm" he said, obviously not convinced.

"Why don't we..." he said, placing the half finished bottle on the counter and pulling her off the chair, pulling her into his embrace as he rested back against the counter "hole up in here instead?"

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"We could order in, lay in bed all evening, in our underwear, and not get interrogated by the medical-nazi" he finished his reasoning and she listened amused.

"The medical-nazi?" she asked.

"She drew up my whole medical history the last time I had dinner with her" he groaned.

"Really? What was the conclusion?" she laughed.

"Mild chance of lung cancer, 60% chance of a heart attack by age 65" he replied without missing a beat.

"Nice" she said "50% for a peptic ulcer" she pointed towards herself.

"Wow, excellent" he replied impressed.

"She spent an hour trying to convince me to start taking proton pump inhibitors" she declared proudly.

"What?" he asked, falling out of his role.

"That's the actual medical term" she laughed "I liked it so much, I memorized it".

"It sounds like a secret weapon of a superhero" he frowned.

"I know, I was halfway convinced to take them" she laughed.

She disentangled herself from his arms.

"Come on, it will be fun" she laughed as she headed towards the bedroom to get dressed.

"Hopefully, she'll bring narcotics" she heard him murmur.

xxxxxxxxxxx

"Come inside, I am running late" they heard the blonde huff as she opened the door, but disappeared straight away.

Rory looked back at Tristan who wore an amused expression on his face.

"Okay then" he mouthed as he followed her into the foyer.

"We had this Whipple case and it lasted 8 hours instead of the 6 I was planing for, so I am running late - Doyle, entertain your guests!" the Paris yelled and Rory heard a chuckle from Tristan.

"What's a Whipple?" he asked under his breath.

"Do you really wanna know?" she replied, arching her eyebrow.

"My guests, why are they suddenly my guests?" Doyle asked annoyed as he appeared in the foyer.

Rory couldn't help but chuckle at his annoyed expression.

"If this is not a good time..." Tristan started, his voice hopeful.

"Of course it's a good time" Paris reappeared for a second "I just need to take a shower real quick. Unless you want me to smell like pancreas" she said, disappearing once again.

Rory frowned, taken aback.

"You definitely don't want her to smell like pancreas" Doyle pointed out.

"Okay then" Tristan stepped up, cutting Doyle's speech short "how about some drinks?"

"Yes, of course" Doyle said, turning around to walk inside the apartment.

Rory looked at Tristan, her face permanently fixed in a disgusted frown.

"Don't look at me, I wanted to stay home" he whispered as he followed Doyle.

Rory sighed, bracing herself for the evening.

She walked into the living room watching Doyle and Tristan prepare some drinks at the bar.

Tristan handed her a glass and she tasted it curiously.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Plenty of alcohol" he whispered coyly and she sighed.

They sat down by the table across from Doyle and silence settled over them.

Rory squirmed in her seat uncomfortably, smiling at Doyle who studied them.

"Okay, I'm here" Paris said as she stormed in, taking a seat next to Doyle.

Rory looked at her baffled.

"You are already done?" she asked confused.

"Yeah" Paris replied, slightly out of breath "gotta be quick, time cannot be wasted on showers when you are a surgical resident" she reasoned.

"She's got it down to 78 seconds now" Doyle beamed with pride "including drying off".

Rory stared at them shocked.

"Enough of chitchat" Paris said, not leaving room for further analyzing of the 78 second shower method "we have more important issues to address".

Rory looked around uncomfortably, as Tristan smiled, no doubt prepared for the insanity that was impossible to prepare for. She watched, part amazed, as he leaned back in his chair, his arm caressing her back absent mindedly.

"Issues?" Rory asked, her voice careful.

"You two back together?" Paris asked, her voice harsh, her expression stern.

"Uhm" Rory replied, suddenly embarrassed under the scrutiny.

"And I don't mean back together, fooling around, like you two were for god knows how long, but really back together, living and all?" she clarified.

Rory took an impatient sip of her drink, almost choking from the effort.

"Yeah, Paris, we are" she heard Tristan state, his voice calm.

"You going to confirm that?" the blonde turned to her and Rory swallowed hard.

"Yes" she stuttered.

"Good" Paris said, seemingly pleased "that whole drama back and forth was getting old. We can't afford to loose a couple like you. We are journalist-doctor couple, socially high standard, we're supposed to surround ourselves with people like that" she explained.

"You always warm my heart, Paris" Rory murmured.

"Doyle has no married friends, they are all dimwits and I, well, you know..." Paris continued "We need you to come off as strong and powerful. Hot shot lawyer - New York Times reporter, that's the kind of friends we need for show" she finished her monologue and Doyle nodded in unison.

Tristan chuckled and Rory sighed annoyed.

"Oh god, this is going to be priceless" she heard him say.

Paris and Doyle looked at them, their expression curious.

"You wanna tell them or should I?" Tristan leaned in, whispering.

"You are not being particularly helpful here" she bit back.

"What are you two talking about?" Paris asked, her voice impatient.

"I quit the Times" Rory said impulsively but regretted it straight away, as she saw the two sets of eyes bore into her.

She felt Tristan's hand clasp hers under the table and she took a deep breath.

"What?" Paris shrieked standing up for further stamina.

"Calm down, Paris" Tristan said, trying to calm the blonde.

"Why would you do such thing? You worked for that all your life. I worked for that all my life. You were supposed to go and be the best you could be, I was supposed to see what I could have reached, had I chosen journalism!" she yelled.

"While your honest concern warms my heart..." Rory started, her voice cynical.

"Don't be making this a joke" Paris cut her off "What could possibly justify that action?"

Rory scoffed "I don't need to justify..."

"You are pregnant, aren't you?" Paris asked, her eyes dangerously focused "You knocked her up, didn't you?" she looked at Tristan accusing.

"That's enough, Paris" Tristan said, his voice strong and firm.

Rory looked at him, involuntarily, his face was serious, annoyed and determined. She watched in awe as the room fell silent. He had that sort of a presence. He rarely used it, rarely had to, but when he did, it gave her some incredible thrill, knowing he could be that straight forward, that powerful.

"If you could shut your mouth for two minutes, Rory might explain" he said, choosing his words carefully, as he tried to control his anger.

Rory watched him, thankful for his pose, but now, when all eyes were on her, she had trouble knowing what she wanted to say.

"I just... I didn't want to do it anymore. I wasn't happy doing that" she started, not daring to look up at Paris "your dreams aren't supposed to feel like a burden, are they? They aren't supposed to feel like they are someone else's dream, right?" she asked, finally looking up to see Paris stare at her, her eyes almost showing concern.

She took a deep breath, finding strength to go on.

"I know I disappointed everyone..."

"Don't say that" Tristan cut her off, squeezing her hand again.

She smiled at him, thankful.

"I know I did. But I don't care anymore. I want to find something that makes me happy, makes me whole" she finished, looking up with a new found determination.

There was a moment of silence, Paris and Doyle watching her intently and she felt good, having commanded that room to an impressive silence.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Paris asked, and Rory let out a long breath, her momentum gone.

"Are you going to be a housewife now? Or take classes at the community college?" she went on and Rory had to accept that she had valid questions.

"I don't know, Paris" she sighed, leaning back into her chair.

"This is ridiculous. You are throwing away your talent" Paris said, leaning back in her chair as Rory squirmed in her seat, hating that once again all eyes were on her.

"She isn't" Tristan stood up for her once again and she glanced at him, wondering when he would finally have enough of defending her. It seemed like that's all he had been doing for the past couple of weeks and she could tell it was taking a toll on him. Not because he didn't believe in the cause anymore, but perhaps because he was used to wining arguments quickly, in the courtroom anyway. Long cases wore his defenses down, because he was the kind of person that delivered the goods quickly and in a straight forward manner. He wasn't the one for lengthy warfare.

"What do you know? You're so happy she is back, you don't care if she's throwing her life away" Paris snapped back at him and Rory saw Tristan tense. She knew that Tristan let Paris get away with a lot of things, because they had a history, because he knew her, loved her even, but this was a low blow, even for her.

"Paris, that's enough" he said, and Rory felt a chill run down her spine hearing his voice like that. Paris must have felt it too, because there was a moment of silence and when she spoke again, she chose her words more carefully.

"What did Lorelai say? What did your grandparents say?" she asked, her voice still having that edge Rory knew so well.

"They were shocked. And pissed. My grandfather is not talking to me" she said honestly, her voice hurt.

"I don't blame them" the blonde replied, but didn't go on, silenced by a flash of Tristan's eyes.

"Paris" Doyle called out his wife's name, speaking for the first time since the whole discussion started and it seemed to have some sort of effect on her, because she rolled her eyes, sighing.

"Fine" she groaned "I suppose she could have a midlife crisis. If she recovers okay. You are going to recover, right?" she shot Rory a look.

"I hope" she smiled wryly and there was another silence, settling in on them, this time more calm, and Rory sighed thankful for the truce.

"Well" Paris suddenly said, getting up from her seat and dashing out the living room and into the bedroom "lucky for you, I have just the perfect thing to sort this mess out".

Rory glanced from Doyle to Tristan, her uneasiness unabashed.

Paris reappeared with a huge binder, with color coordinated dividers and Rory felt a slight déja vu as she dropped the massive thing on the dinner table.

"What's this?" she asked, already fearing the answer.

"This, my friend, is our 'Possible future prospects' binder from senior year at Yale" Paris stated proudly.

"Oh my god" Rory groaned "You kept this?"

"You bet I did, lucky for you" she retorted.

"What the hell is that?" Tristan asked, not hiding the annoyance in his voice.

"This is all the possible prospects that we considered during our last year at Yale. It has all Rory's qualifications, matched with possible fields of work, masters trainings, prospective jobs. All graded by a simple score system that I developed based on possible interests, adjudication and compensation" she explained, her face determined as she opened the binder, flipping through a couple of pages.

"Now, of course we would have to modify this, since a couple of years at the Times ought to weigh in with certain possibilities..." Paris went on, not paying attention to anyone else.

"Paris" Rory pleaded sighing.

"...but I'm sure we could find some acceptable solutions" she continued.

"I am writing a novel" Rory half shouted and she immediately scolded herself for having said it. She stared at a spot on the dinner table, thankful for the silence that settled over the room, but worried for what was to come.

"A novel?" Paris asked, her voice incredulous.

She shrugged, taking a deep breath as she looked around the dinner table. Doyle and Paris stared at her, wide eyed, but even from this angle, she could tell Tristan had an almost child like amazed smile on his face. She didn't want to look at him, worried for all the faith he had in her. She wasn't sure she could prove that faith right, but it was good to know someone believed in her, nevertheless.

"Just how are you going to..." Paris started, and Rory braced herself for another round of confrontation.

"Paris, just shut up" Tristan cut her off.

"Forgive me if I'm worried..." she spat back, but he cut her short once again.

"Don't" he said with finality.

"Am I just supposed to watch her..." she started to ask.

"Yes" Tristan replied, not letting her finish the question.

Paris sighed in exasperation.

"Fine" she said, shutting the binder in front of her with a sigh "do what you want. But don't come running to me when you bleed out from your ulcer!"

xxxxxxxxx

She watched him as he walked on the wet sidewalk, his hands in his pocket and his body relaxed as he maneuvered himself, carefully avoiding the puddles that littered the street.

The snow had melted, thanks to the unusual heat front that settled over the city in the past two days, bathing the streets in dirty molten snow.

She knew he wasn't going to ask her or push her to talk about it. He was not that sort of person. He would wait for her patiently, wait for her to bring important subjects up, even if it would cause silent tension between them for days, even if she was only waiting for one little push, even if she wished he would yell and scream and demand answers. He wasn't that sort of person. He liked his space and respected hers, above all.

"It's not really a novel" she said, coming to a sudden halt on the sidewalk.

He wasn't surprised at the outburst and she was partly annoyed at the fact. It was almost as if he'd predicted her spilling it out, almost as if he'd been waiting for her to start the conversation.

He stopped too, staring at his shoes, his face in deep concentration.

"What is it then?" he asked, quietly.

She shrugged, resuming her walk, feeling him follow her, only half a step behind.

"I don't know. I mean it's a novel, but I can't really see the whole of it. It's almost as if I have parts of it, but I can't really tell where it's heading or what it's going to be about" she said, her frustration being voiced for the first time.

He listened to her and she turned back to watch his reaction. He didn't have any. He walked beside her, his face solemn, his eyes fixed on the street and he reached out gently to guide her around a group of people she hadn't noticed.

She sighed annoyed by his lack of interest.

"It was stupid to start it in the first place" she murmured.

He didn't reply and she was starting to wonder whether the subject interested him at all.

"I don't know what I was thinking" she groaned coming to stop once again, her hands wiping her face in exhaustion.

He stopped too, studying her face. She got more and more annoyed by the second under his scrutiny.

"Do yo have anything to say or am I boring you?" she shot angrily at him and he took a deep breath.

"What do you want me to say, Rory?" he asked, his voice controlled, quiet.

"I don't know" she replied frustrated "tell me what you think".

"I think that this is not how it works. And I think you know that yourself" he said, his voice calm.

She swallowed as she watched him, his words sounding too truthful for her liking.

"I never thought you would sit down in that room and everything would magically turn better. I never thought you would go and write a book in a sitting" he went on, his voice still calm, but she could tell he was choosing his words carefully, because his eyes were focused, dark.

"I thought it was going to be a struggle and you would have times of self doubt and questioning and times when you would want to give up the whole thing all together, but I also thought you would know these times would come. And you would get over them somehow. I'd rather have you struggle with this for years than see you as lost as you were in the last couple of months" he said, finally meeting her eyes.

She could feel the amazed expression of despair that settled on her face, she could feel her mouth slightly parted, her eyes squinting and the distant sting of what were probably tears, and she could feel the disenchanted, unalterable weight of his words slowly find their righteous place in her heart, firing up the beacon of her exasperation.

She knew he was right and she knew there was nothing left to say, nothing left to discuss. She suddenly understood his silence from before, his solemn strength and she was thankful and angry and exhausted at the same time.

She must have looked tired and small and lost at that moment, because he stepped up to her, his hands going to her scarf, drawing it tighter around her neck.

"Rory" he said and she swallowed again, not wanting to be weak enough for tears "look at me" he tugged at her coat gently.

She looked up, taking a deep breath.

"It's hard, right?" he asked.

She nodded silently.

"And you don't know how you are going to manage?" he went on and she nodded once again.

"Would you trade it for anything else though?" he asked with a smile on his face "That feeling you had this afternoon?"

She thought back to the afternoon when he arrived home, their home, to find her working and she smiled at the memory, knowing he was right.

"Because I wouldn't" he answered for her "that expression that you have when you write. That lightness that you exude when you are obeying your true calling. I want _that_ Rory. I love that Rory" he said with a bright smile that seemed to be contagious, because she found herself smiling.

"I've loved that Rory since I was 16, and I don't care what brings her to life, movie marathons or dark moccachinos or writing something that doesn't make sense to her yet, but I want _her_. I want her" he finished as she buried her head in his chest.

"Why are you so good to me?" she murmured, her chest surging with emotions.

He chuckled.

"You're really good in bed" he replied, joking and she sighed, knowing he was bound to lighten the mood with his trademark humor.

"Plus you have excellent friends" he went on, smirking as he took her by her hand and started to walk.

"Oh yeah?" she played along "You like them?"

"Oh, yeah. Great company, great food, what's not to like?" he replied.

"The constant harassing?" she asked playfully.

"Oh don't be such a crybaby" he smirked.

"I honestly don't know why I got stuck with her" she wondered out aloud.

"That's a mystery to me too" he chuckled "If you were to tell me that back in Chilton, I would have laughed my ass off" he pointed out.

"God, if you would have told me that, I would have shot myself" she replied.

He laughed.

"What if I would have told you that you would end up with me?" he asked her, his eyes gleaming playfully.

She scoffed.

"I would have shot you" she said.

"Mary, you wound me" he replied lightheartedly, but she came to stop, suddenly feeling guilty.

"Was I really horrible to you?" she asked, her face solemn.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Well, let's see. You cried when I kissed you. Told me it was a mistake and that I should date... Paris. Then declared in front of the whole school you hate me. And made me watch as you paraded with... Bean" he listed off her crimes, frowning at the last deed.

"I don't mean those things" she shook her head and he looked at her curious.

"I feel like if I had put in a little more effort, then I could have seen past all the charade. The annoying playboy mask. I could have seen this real you. And I could have helped you feel better. Not get into trouble. For your life not to end up like it did" she said, watching as his expression turned serious, his eyes mirroring hurt.

"I don't know if there was things to see behind that surface" he murmured.

"Yes there was, you always had this..." she said, her voice emotional as she thought of what he had to endure and go through.

"Rory, I was an asshole" he cut her off "I didn't deserve you and I wouldn't have appreciated you".

She stared at him, slightly shocked.

"That's not how we were meant to be together" he said, his voice more gentle "I wasn't supposed to get you then. I had to go through all that crap to become someone who could".

She nodded, accepting his reasoning.

They started walking again, silently holding each other's hand.

"You think we were meant to be together?" she asked, her voice small, playful, teasing.

"Did I say that? I didn't say that" he said, smiling coyly.

"You did" she protested.

"Yeah, well I tend to be delusional" he reasoned and she smiled as he pulled her along.


	20. On fire

He readjusted himself slightly on the bed, his legs tangled with hers as he listened to the taping of her fingers on the keyboard.

It was another lazy Sunday afternoon, the ones he was so thankful for. He used to remember hating these slowly passing hours, because he felt an incredible urge to fill them with something other than waiting for her to show up. Now it was his refuge, his sanctuary away from the world with phones turned to mute and the world shrinking down to the size of his bedroom, if he was lucky enough, to the size of his bed.

He opened his eyes slightly to check on her and he smiled involuntarily through the haze of the after-meal-nap. She was leaning against the headboard, the laptop in her lap, her eyes shining bright as she watched the words flow onto the screen.

He closed his eyes again, exhaling a long, relaxing breath as his fingers danced on the exposed surface of her abdomen.

The past week has been uneventful and he realized how much he loved that prospect. No huge dramatic confrontations, no fights, no breakdowns. Just quiet, average days of him working and coming home to a home, to his girl. He would have loved to take that for granted, believe that from now on this is how it as going to be, this simple and this incredible. But from past experience he knew his life never seemed to turn out that easy.

Right now he was thankful for the fact that he seemed to have found the Rory that he fell in love with, the one with the quiet concentration and childish optimism and amazement. He knew it didn't magically turn easy for her, but she took things one day at a time, slowly developing a schedule that allowed her to feel less of a slacking jobless writer and more of someone with plans and obligations. She took a volunteering teaching gig twice a week at the public library, for struggling high schoolers and it seemed to give some structure to her life. He knew that was the hardest thing for her right now. Not having to get up at 6 AM, not having to be somewhere on time. For Rory Gilmore, to be floating around, without rhyme or reason, without deadlines and obligations was as lost as a human being was able to feel.

"Can I ask you a question?" her delicate, almost playful tone snapped him out of his thoughts and he realized the tapping of the keyboard must have stopped minutes ago.

He opened his eyes to find her turned to him, her face contemplative.

He hummed in affirmation, turning to face her as she slid down to his level, his fingers traveling up to her silky hair.

"When we were in high school... did you... were you after me because you wanted to have sex or was it more?" she asked, her body slightly hunched and her voice quiet, as if she were whispering a secret.

He couldn't help but chuckle, not understanding where this all was coming from.

"Is this research for your book?" he asked smirking and she shrugged, blushing slightly.

He furrowed his eyes trying to see the reasons, but as always, Rory's questions seemed to be as random as can be until they formed a coherent pattern he could understand.

"So? What was it?" she asked and he exhaled, smiling, not quite knowing how to answer that.

"Rory, I was a stupid, horny 16 year old" he defended himself.

"I know, I just want to know what you felt like" she whispered, moving closer to him.

He instinctively turned onto his back, pulling her closer. She hugged his chest, her head falling onto it, his hand combing through her long, silky hair as he focused on the ceiling.

"God, this is going to be like therapy" he chuckled and he felt her smile into his chest.

"Uhm... I saw you and... I guess I was whipped" he admitted, smirking "You were beautiful and you looked so innocent... Like a Mary" he chuckled.

"You acted like a jerk" she pointed out.

"Yeah, most girls responded to that. You didn't. You weren't particularly impressed, I remember. And I didn't know any other way to approach a girl" he sighed, trying to channel that mindless period that he so would have liked to forget about.

"What did you want?" came her quiet inquiry.

He sighed again, armless in the face of her insistent questioning. This was so like Rory, digging for details that were painful and embarrassing.

"I don't know what I wanted. I wanted you to like me. To want me. I wanted impossible things" he groaned.

She listened to him, her long even breaths warming his chest.

"Can I show you?" she asked, and her voice was so quiet, so shy, he wasn't sure he heard right.

He looked down onto her, to make sure she meant what he thought she did.

She blushed again, moving off of him carefully and he tried to swallow as his heart started to race.

He sat back, leaning back against the headboard as he watched her get her laptop, placing it gently into his lap.

He looked at her, feeling incredibly tempted to look at the screen, to read whatever was written, but it was almost as though there was an invisible law stopping him.

She smiled at him encouragingly and he realized she was offering a glimpse into something very private, her very own.

It made him extremely nervous. Not nervous like the time he usually read Rory's writing. Her articles were always interesting, to the point, and very uniquely hers, but they were also almost always a test for him. He felt like her writing, writing in itself was something foreign, something ungraspable for him, something with what Logan and Jess always had a level on him.

And this was even more burdening. Her child of labor, her resurrection, her proof of life. How could he measure up? How could he understand or critique?

He watched her eyes, their deep blue full of hope and love and he swallowed hard again, turning to the screen.

He started reading, holding his breath as his eyes skimmed over each word.

_  
He was the ultimate golden child. With a smile that would command masses and eyes that twinkled with the knowledge of superiority. He was confident and well-spoken, heir to whatever he ever wanted from life. And as lost as humanly possible._

_I remember the first time I saw him and even then, with the whole charade of the hot-shot playboy image, I could tell how desperately alone he must have felt. How desperately lone and abandoned he seemed. It's as though these children, those abandoned not physically, but emotionally, exuded some quiet hum of loneliness that only their peers could decipher._

_We seemed to have found each other through that hum, picking up each others' frequencies over crowded rooms, chattering classrooms and desperate pretenses._

_I don't remember talking much with him. As though words were something he had fallen out of trust with, disenchanted and disillusioned. But there was no mask either, when we were together. I almost never saw him smile and that made him seem more honest, more true than any words would have made him._

_How we came to be, how it all fell in place, remains a mystery to me to this day. But I know that the wonder he showed towards me, the amazement with which he would touch and approach me, makes me smile to this day._

_I was as experienced as a 16 year old guarded by panic stricken grandparents could be and he was the one who probably knew the ins and outs of physical love by the time he first had to write a book report in school, yet when we were together, even through the deafening sound of my wildly beating heart, I could see the unbelieving gratitude in his eyes._

_He would worship with glances and appreciate every second, every touch, clumsily and childishly, and I wish I could have stripped him of his pretenses sooner than I stripped him of his clothes, because it would have made it that much more true, that much more sacred._

_It amazes me to this day, that my naive, inexperienced and child like 16 year old self would motivate someone so much. That he would wait and wait and fall at my feet, and love me in a painfully slow and controlled manner. That's how he was with me, that's how he discovered me. The reality that it was a first time identical to a thousand other first times for thousand other lost teenagers didn't change the fact that we found each other for reasons much more mature than our age would have called for._

He finished reading, his eyes lingering on the last line and he felt a mix of excitement, pain and fear. It made him shiver, that reality she had created, and he almost wished it were true, a real memory rather than the delicate picture painted by her mind.

She moved in closer, sensing he'd finished and he sighed, clearing his throat to get rid of the weird stinging he felt in the back of it.

He pulled her closer, his hands going up to caress her face as his eyes focused on her deep blue ones. He sighed again, wishing he'd have her words, her mind to tell her how he felt, how she made him feel.

"You don't like it" she whispered, her voice worried as she bit her lip.

"God, Rory, of course I do" he shook his head, worrying she misunderstood his lack of words "Your writing is incredible. I wish I could tell you how incredible" he struggled "I just feel like nothing I say is going to do it justice, like it wouldn't mean anything".

She looked at him wide eyed.

"Of course it means something" she whispered.

"I just feel like I am not equipped..." he said, desperately trying to pick the right words to make her understand his frustration without being hurt.

"I don't want you to give advice, I just want to know how it makes you feel" she shrugged, her expression honest, calm.

"I can't tell you how it makes me feel when I read your words" he groaned "I wish you could feel what it's like for me to read them" he said, placing her hand onto his chest in frustration, as if he were hoping that simple gesture would let his feelings pass onto her.

She blushed slightly and he pulled her closer, his lips touching her ears as he whispered.

"I didn't know what I was wishing for, but god, I'm almost glad I didn't know what it would have been like to have you, because I'm afraid I wasn't smart enough to be able to keep you and it would have killed me to let you go" he whispered, his voice as quiet as possible as he caressed her arms, willing his fingers to move steadily despite the rush of pure adrenalin he felt in his body.

"What were you wishing for?" she asked, her voice a throaty whisper and he felt his mouth go dry, seeing her eyes focus on his lips.

He smirked slightly.

"Having you" he replied, knowing full well she wasn't going to settle for that. Rory found strange enjoyment in torturing him with having to unearth old memories.

"How?" she asked and he could have sworn he saw lust in her eyes.

He swallowed, taking a deep breath.

"I thought about what it would be like to kiss you" he said, his voice painfully honest as he looked her in the eye. He realized that a long time ago: lying to her, or denying her these details would be futile, because she dug and dug until she found what she wanted to hear.

"What it would have been like having sex with you" he went on, intentionally using those words. He wasn't going to lie. Not to her, not to himself. Did he want her back then? Hell yeah. Was he in love with her? God knows. Love is a strong word.

"Was that all you thought about? Physical things?" she asked, her question eager, child like.

"No" he shook his head chuckling "no, we talked sometimes too, in my fantasies" he joked and she rolled her eyes.

"So you fantasized about me?" she asked, catching him off guard. Her question was matter of fact, not teasing or playful.

"Yeah" he admitted as he studied her. Her expression was contemplative.

"You'd imagine us together?" she asked, her brows slightly furrowed, as if she were interviewing him, digging for important pieces of information that would explain who he had been and what he had become.

"Yeah" he answered her watching her reaction, amused, but not allowing the smile to appear that was threatening to spread.

"You'd just lay in bed and think about me?" she went on and he watched her face, studying her every mimic.

The questions were insistent and it made him part frustrated, part aroused, immersing himself in the feelings he used to feel over ten years ago.

"No, not just lay in bed" he replied, his voice slightly sarcastic and she looked up at him, surprised.

"I would masturbate, Rory" he spelled it out for her, his words slow, deliberately outspoken and her name stressed, challenging her efforts to stay with the professional questioning. He could make out the light blush on her face, and her eyes once again turning a deeper shade of blue.

There was a quiet 'oh' forming on her lips, if only for a fraction of a second and he had to control himself, not to kiss those surprised lips.

Instead he held his breath, waiting for her next question.

It didn't come, but he did notice her breathing getting uneven, her eyes boring into his with a startling intensity.

She moved closer to him, climbing into his lap with careful movements, coming to straddle him. He let her, completely passive, studying her movements with restrain, even though he was aching to touch her. She came to rest in his lap, her eyes cast down.

"Was that good?" she asked barely loud enough to hear, her eyes averted and he smirked, at her naivety and her shyness.

"It was as good as it could be" he shrugged, a smile appearing on his lips as he watched her still too shy to meet his eyes.

"Maybe you could have tried a bit harder" she shrugged, wondering out loud.

He scoffed, letting his head fall back as he stared at the ceiling.

"If I would have tried any harder Mary, I would have ended up in jail for harassment" he snickered.

"True" she agreed, finally meeting his gaze.

He had to swallow again, because her proximity, the subject, and that incredible smell of hers was somehow clouding his brain.

"Anyway" he said, taking a deep breath "I was a dumb kid. It wouldn't have been as incredible as you wrote it. I probably would have messed it up".

"You are too hard on yourself" she soothed him and he chuckled, thankful for her concern.

"You think too highly of my teenager self" he remarked.

"I don't. Maybe I romanticized you a bit" she shrugged.

"Romanticized? You made me a wimp, falling over myself" he smirked, the tension slowly breaking in his chest.

"You would have been" she teased, arching an eyebrow.

"Probably" he agreed and she chuckled "But you gotta remember, Gilmore" he whispered into her ear as he pushed her onto her back, moving over her "even if I would have been a nervous wreck... I still could have made you beg".

He smirked as he saw the immediate indignation on her face.

"Full of yourself much, DuGray?" she snickered.

He matched her smile, his lips meeting hers in a slow, teasing kiss.

"You don't believe me?" he whispered, moving down to her jaw and neck, his lips traveling on the surface of her skin, making her shiver.

She exhaled a long, uneven breath and he smiled into her skin, knowing how hard she was concentrating on keeping it together.

He moved further down her body, pulling her shirt up lightly, his lips meeting the warm skin of her stomach and he heard her gasp, as his breath played on her sensitive skin.

"I could right now" he teased, his tone deep and raspy as he licked her skin lightly.

She let out a half scoff half moan and he smirked as he moved further down, pulling up her skirt.

"Tristan" she breathed out and he could picture her face as she waited with her nerve endings fired up, her eyes squeezed together and her muscles tensed throughout her body.

"Yeah Mary?" he teased as his fingers pulled her panties aside.

She moaned again as his hot breath reached her folds, followed by his warm tongue and he couldn't help moaning himself as he tasted her growing wetness.

Suddenly, the goal at hand seemed to dim as he pulled himself closer to be able to taste her more. Her legs spread, giving him access, and his hands traveled under her hips to pull her closer to him.

His tongue dipped deep into her and he felt her clench around him, as her hands found their way into his hair, desperately grasping the messed up locks.

He heard her curse silently and he suddenly remembered his initial task. He smirked again, his tongue finding her swollen clit and he sucked on it, making her gasp again.

He heard her chant his name and he continued, his lips and tongue working in a steady rhythm, as his finger slid into her slick passage. He felt her tense under him and her soft cries sped up, her hands pulling him even closer.

Her smell and taste, and the way her wetness grew around him made him go crazy, his hands trembling lightly as he readjusted his position, trying to relieve some of the tension his growing erection caused.

His mind was threatening to overload and he started his last assault, knowing she would have a hard time resisting this close to her release. He released her clit, licking all the way over her slit with generous laps of his tongue before returning to her nub with even greater intensity.

Her whole body jerked and her moans became continuous, signaling her approaching orgasm.

He suddenly pulled away, desperately trying to still his ragged breathing and he heard her yelp of protest.

He moved up quickly, his eyes coming to level with hers that snapped open, revealing their intense darkness.

"You are heartless" she panted accusingly and he couldn't help but smirk.

"Just say it, Mary" he whispered, his fingers finding her clit again to stress his words.

"Jerk" she breathed out, her eyes squeezing shut again as her hips desperately moved against his fingers.

"I'll be whatever you fucking want me to be, just say it" he replied, his voice deep and throaty.

She inhaled deeply and he knew he had won just then.

"Please" she whispered, her voice quiet, enragingly desperate.

"What?" he coaxed her and he had to still his body, his heartbeats were so intensely vigorous.

"Please Tristan, I want you so bad" she said, opening her eyes to reveal their lust filled deepness and he thought he might cum there and then, feeling her vibrating with want beneath him.

He moved down her body once again, falling between her legs as she offered herself up to him, his lips finding their way back to her sex and she spasmed instantly, his flicking tongue finally pushing her over her edge, her cries of pleasure filling the air around them.

He felt her hands pull him close as her whole body convulsed in pleasure, her sex clenching as he licked her walls for the last remnants of her taste.

She relaxed after long seconds, her body instantly shivering as the waves subsided and he pulled himself up to hold her in his arms. She buried herself deep into his chest and he sighed holding her tight.

"I definitely would have liked this" she murmured into his hold and he laughed wholeheartedly, caressing her hair.

"Yeah?" he said "I think you would have kicked me off if I tried"

She was quiet, taking slow breaths, her whole body trembling slightly with her heartbeat and he smiled, feeling proud of himself for bringing her into this state.

She chuckled, burying her head further into his chest.

"What?" he asked, interested.

She groaned self consciously.

"I am going to regret this" she mumbled as she looked up at him and he could swear, even through her post orgasmic flush that she was blushing.

"What?" he laughed, not understanding.

She took a deep breath and whispered to him, her eyes cast down.

"I used to think of you too".

He choked on his breath, his erection going rock hard once again.

"In Chilton?" he managed.

"No" she laughed, her hands going up to her face as she hid "I didn't do that in Chilton... I was a late bloomer".

He felt a huge grin form on his face and he didn't quite know which new piece of juicy information to dig after.

"I'm sorry, you didn't masturbate until college?" he snickered and she slapped him playfully.

"That interests you more than the fact that I used to think of you when I did it?" she looked him dead in the eye, arching an eyebrow and his mouth went dry when she said it like that, realizing she was right and that this was the more pressing detail.

"When was this?" he asked, and his tone wasn't so playful anymore, his voice going raspy as arousal once again won over.

She shrugged, once again casting her eyes as her hands, as if without aim, wondered to his fly, freeing him of some pressure.

"When you went on business trips" she tried to elude and her hand snaked inside his boxers.

"That's not what you meant" he said, before his eyes rolled back, feeling her grasp him.

He cursed as her hand stroked him gently.

"When I was a freshman, at Yale" she whispered "and sometimes later" she added, seemingly embarrassed.

He smiled, even as his eyes were squeezed shut, concentrating on her hands moving over his length with just the right amount of pressure.

"How come?" he managed to ask opening his eyes to watch her face.

She blushed again, stopping her movements.

"This is embarrassing" she murmured, smiling to herself.

"Hey" he said, getting her attention.

She looked at him and she smiled, lightly rolling her eyes as he guided her hand back to the task at hand.

"I don't know, I didn't like thinking of Brad Pitt, I guess" she shrugged again, continuing to stroke him.

"Baby" he whispered breathlessly, squeezing his eyes shut again, her ministrations once again clouding his brain "not the time to be mentioning Pitt".

"Right, sorry" she giggled, placating him with a firm stroke.

"Oh God" he moaned.

"I guess the thought of you in a uniform... sweaty... dirty...muscular... just popped into my mind one time..." she murmured, trailing off.

He groaned again, imagining her on a dormitory bed, pleasing herself while panting his name, and suddenly her hand around his erection wasn't quite enough.

"Okay, that's it" he said, suddenly rolling over on top of her, taking her by surprise.

"Tristan!" she exclaimed, but his hands already pushed up her skirt, pulling aside her panties, his legs spreading her legs as he guided himself into her.

He watched her eyes close as she moaned out loud and he had to still himself, willing his body back under his control. He braced himself on his arms, brushing the hair out of her face to be able to look at her.

"Tell me more" he said with a poignant thrust and he smiled as she moaned again, her mouth parting slightly.

He felt an incredible urge to kiss that mouth and he did, initiating another trust.

"Tristan" she panted his name against his mouth and he had to hold himself back from wanting to pound into her.

The details were too tempting though, so he slowed down, causing apparent frustration on her face.

"Oh god, I don't know" she groaned, her hands squeezing his butt to coax him into another stroke.

He obliged, his own need for her threatening to split his body.

"I would imagine you taking me by surprise" she breathed out, earning herself another powerful thrust.

"Imagine you fucking me hard" she whispered, her voice so low, he though maybe he just wanted to hear her say that.

Either way, it made him want to ravage her.

"Mary" he breathed, thrusting deep into her.

"Oh yeah" she smiled as her face contorted with pleasure "and that".

He concentrated on her face, motionless, but with his whole body trembling, waiting for her to go on.

"I'd imagine you saying that I wasn't your little Mary anymore... that I was your little slut" she trailed off and he could tell how far gone she was if she had that lack of censor.

"Shit Mary" he groaned, his last ounce of self control snapping with her profanity, his body turning into one pulsating need for release.

He pound into her hard, making her moan out rhythmically as his erection hit deep against her walls.

She panted his name and he sped up even more, arching his back as he drove into her as far as he could.

"You'll always... be... my Mary" he panted, into her ear "even if you... fuck like... a little slut" he gritted out and he could tell that pushed her over the edge because her whole body tensed, her nails digging into his back as she spasmed, screaming his name. His sight went black as his whole body vibrated, feeling everything augmented, her hot, sweaty skin sliding against his, her sex clenching around him, milking his release as well, and he emptied into her with a last deep thrust, a primal cry breaking from his lungs.

He collapsed on top of her, panting, his lungs burning, and his heart pounding. He fought for breath as his shaking hands went up to her face, brushing back her damp hair from her face.

He opened his eyes to watch her face, glowing, a wide grin spreading over her features.

"What?" he breathed, her smile contagious.

She shook her head, eyes squeezed shut and a wide smile on her lips.

"What?" he inquired again, laughing at her protest.

She opened her eyes, their deep blue startling him and he had to remind himself to breathe, his chest suddenly tightening.

"You are so much better than my fantasies" she whispered, blushing slightly.

He chuckled, giving into the urge to kiss her, his tongue sliding into her mouth, tasting her hungrily.

"Ditto" he said, momentarily backing away, before he resumed kissing her.


	21. Tis the season

She closed the door behind her, leaning against it as she sighed. She felt exhausted.

She never in a million years would have thought that teaching was such a tiring job.

The kids that she tutored at the library turned out to be a handful, and frankly, it was just hard for her to face the fact that not every child was as taken by Salinger as she used to be.

She kicked her shoes off, not bothering to straighten them as they landed against the wall by the door. She took her coat off too, gathering all of her strength to hang it on the hanger and not just toss it the same way as the shoes.

"Tris?" she called out "you home?"

She walked inside the living room, seeing the light coming from the bedroom and she was relieved to know he was home. He'd been pulling late nights at the office and she had been worried about him.

"Yep" came his answer from the bedroom and the tone of his voice made her stop dead in her track.

She knew that voice. It was full of mischief, amusement, and somehow, it made her feel very uncomfortable.

"What are you doing?" she asked, not able to hide her uneasiness.

She took another step but stopped once again, shocked, as he stepped out of the bedroom.

"Oh my god" she mumbled, staring at him.

He stood in the doorway, wearing a pair of green army cargo pants and a matching shirt, with a dog tag hanging in his neck. He rested his hands on his hips, standing calmly as he faced her, his face wearing a permanent smirk.

"Ma'am" he nodded, fully devoted to playing the part and she burst out laughing.

"What the hell are you doing?" she asked, incredulous.

"Thought I'd give you your Christmas present early" he shrugged lightly.

She let out another set of giggles.

"You are crazy" she managed to say, still cracking up.

"Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for" he said with mock hurt, but she could tell he was about to crack up as well, because an amused smile appeared in the corner of his mouth.

He took a couple of steps towards her, pulling her into his embrace.

"You are so bad..." she sighed "I knew I would regret telling you about this..."

He smiled.

"I'm pretty sure you won't" he murmured as he leaned in to kiss her gently.

She melted into his hold, closing her eyes as she let the feel of his lips cloud her senses.

He broke away slowly, and she opened her eyes to find him watching her as he brushed the stray locks of hair away from her face.

"How was class today?" he asked, his voice gentle, affectionate.

She sighed, being reminded of the mutual torture that she and her students put each other through that afternoon.

She frowned, not having the strength to express her disdain any other way.

"That bad?" he asked, smiling lightly.

"How can they not enjoy that book? I don't get it" she sighed.

He shrugged, seemingly not sharing her amazement with the fact that a couple of teenagers might just not be excited about required reading.

"You're as bad as they are" she scolded him.

"But way hotter" he replied and she sighed again.

"Right" she played along and he laughed, leaning in to kiss her again.

She moaned into his mouth and his hands landed on her hips, suddenly pulling her closer.

"Hmmm, Sargent, you are making me swoon" she sighed dramatically as she broke off the kiss.

"Lieutenant" he corrected her with an arched eyebrow.

She chuckled, but suddenly gasped as he swept her off her feet, flinging her over his shoulder as she grasped at the shirt on his back to steady herself.

"Tristan!" she cried out in protest.

"Don't resist, Ma'am" came his reply and she burst out laughing again as he carried her into the bedroom.

She laughed, her whole body delirious as he dumped her on the bed and climbed on top of her.

"Okay now" he murmured, his voice dropping to that throaty whisper that seemed to cloud her brain every time she heard it "what am I supposed to do here?" he said with mock concentration "Do I need to give orders?"

She laughed again, amused at his performance.

He settled himself on top of her, his arms cradling her face and she closed her eyes in content. She loved the weight of him on her body, she loved his sense of humor, his ability to make light of every situation. And she definitely loved the fact that he could make her forget about crappy days and the exhaustion in every part of her body.

She sighed contently, opening her eyes to see him smile at her.

"Speaking of Christmas..." she said, her hand going up to his hair, to brush through it.

"No, no, no" he murmured, kissing her neck "nobody has been speaking of Christmas" he tried to avert the topic.

"...mom's been bugging me about it" she finished her sentence.

He let out a long exhausted breath.

"Didn't we get a pass on Christmas? In exchange for that whole Thanksgiving weekend?" he moaned.

"Well, that was the plan, but you just had to go and make us friends again" she retorted.

He cursed with mock enthusiasm.

"I knew I should have let you to go on hating each other" he murmured and she laughed again, her body shaking lightly under his.

There was a moment of silence, and she felt him relax on top of her, his face buried in the crook of her neck.

"Tris" she nudged him gently "we could drive down just for the day" she offered, her voice quiet, contemplative.

He groaned into her neck.

"It's never just a day in Connecticut, Rory, you know that" he pointed out and the light bantering tone seemed to have vanished from the room.

"Well, we just won't tell anyone else we're going" she countered.

"Yeah? Your mom is that good at keeping secrets?" he looked up, arching an eyebrow.

"She can be if it's for her own good" she replied, convinced.

"Rory" he groaned, climbing off of her.

Her body missed his warmth instantly, and her chest once again felt tight, the length of the day once again apparent in all her senses.

She sat up, watching him walk around the room, picking up pieces of clothes from the floor in frustration.

"Fine, if you don't want to go, I'll just drive there, early in the morning, be back the next day and you can stay and gloom and have a chat with ghosts of Christmases passed" she shrugged, bargaining with him.

He looked at her, eyes suddenly icy blue, his face void of the lighthearted humor it reflected up till this point and she suddenly thought that maybe she'd said something that hurt him.

"Fine" he said quietly, turning around to walk out of the bedroom.

"Tris" she called after him getting up from the bed, not liking the way the exchange ended.

She walked out into the living room, hearing him open the fridge in the kitchen.

She walked after him, catching up.

"Hey" she called out, her voice careful, probing "what's wrong?"

"Nothing" he replied, shutting the fridge after having retrieved a bottle of water.

"Tristan, you've been working a lot, I don't expect you to come home with me, that's why I thought we could go for a day, but if you don't want to, then I'll just go alone, I don't want to bother you with this" she ranted, trying to explain herself.

"Fine" he repeated, his voice more stressful.

"What's wrong?" she asked, exhausted.

He opened his mouth, to answer her, his face frustrated, but she broke him off.

"If you're gonna say 'nothing' again, I am going to smack you" she said, pointing a finger at him.

He sighed, his mouth closing again. His face looked tired at that moment and she wondered if he'd have as rough a day as she did, but managed to hide it up until now.

"Rory" he pleaded, his voice slightly annoyed.

"Tristan" she retorted, matching his tone.

"What do you want me to say? My choices are going to freaking Clownville, Connecticut or spending my Christmas alone here, should I be excited?" he burst out and she looked at him startled. His declaration was violent and she finally realized it was because he felt hurt.

"I.." she stuttered "I thought you didn't like Christmas" she shrugged.

"I don't like the hoopla, yes, I don't like the family obligations and I definitely don't like Kirk involved in anything with ribbons, but..." he sighed again, his steam weaning "but I like you, fuck it" he finished, frustrated, his eyes suddenly averted.

She chuckled, a smile spreading on her face as she realized he was, in his childish, slightly moronic way, trying to let her know that he did want to be with her.

"Oookay" she said, amused by his frustration.

He turned around, apparently ashamed of the revelation or the way he managed to voice it.

She moved closer to him, quietly, her arms going around his torso and he sighed again, relaxing as her arms snaked around him.

"Hey" she whispered into his back "I like you too... fuck it" she finished, trying to not laugh.

He chuckled, turning around to face her, his back resting against the counter.

"We could stay here" she shrugged, looking up at him smiling reassuringly.

She watched as he closed his eyes, shaking his head.

"No" he said sighing "Let's go to Star's fucking Hollow".

She smiled up at him, searching his reluctant face.

"You sure?" she asked, her face already in a hopeful smile.

"Yeah" he smiled pulling her closer "as long as I still get that mistletoe deal" he smirked.

"You bet" she winked at him, happy that he agreed.

"I'm going to fucking regret it, aren't I?" he murmured.

"You know, you might have to cut back on the cursing if we're gonna do the whole novelty" she teased him, leaning against his chest.

"Okay, let me try" he said, trailing off as he looked at the ceiling in mock concentration, his arms coming to rest on the small of her back "Happy... Fucking Christmas. Nope, not quite there yet" he played.

She raised an eyebrow scoffing as he leaned in again, kissing her.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Hey" he heard a voice and he turned around, seeing Lorelai on the porch with two steaming cups.

"Thought you might like some eggnog" she said, coming closer to him, sitting down on the bench under the window.

"You don't do eggnog" he said, his voice suspicious.

She shrugged.

"Yeah, well, it's not so much eggnog as coffee" she said, sitting down next to him, placing the cup in his hands.

He smirked, once again turning to watch the front lawn.

He'd been sitting there for half an hour now, taking solace in the quiet of the night, with the numerous lit up houses around him twinkling peacefully in the cold night. That's probably the only thing he truly loved about Christmas, that peaceful calm that seemed to settle over the streets on Christmas Eve after the weeks and weeks of hectic, pretentious season's chaos.

This night, with all the lights and decorations and the wonderful quiet is what made the whole month bearable for him and he found himself reveling in the moment, taking in the white snow and the unmistakable smell of the holiday.

"I never thanked you" he heard her speak and he turned back to look at her, suddenly pulled back from his thoughts.

"For what?" he asked, confused.

He studied her face for the traces of the ever present mockery or mischief, but she seemed nervous and because of that, more truthful than he ever remembered her to be.

She sighed, turning to look out over the front lawn, taking a deep breath as if preparing for some difficult task.

"For everything, I guess... for being there for her, for not keeping her away from me..." she ranted.

"I'd never do that" he broke her off, turning away from her.

It baffled him, to this day, how she could say something like that. As if even her peace treaties would include a little sting, directed at him.

"I know" she corrected herself, her voice nervous again "I know... Look, Tristan, what I am trying to say, obviously not effectively, because you've got that whole hurt, despite being an honorable gentleman look going..." she started her typical rant, turning to him and he sighed, smirking as she went on "is that I am so glad, that she has you" she finished and the weight of her declaration hung in the air, momentarily making it hard for him to do anything.

He glanced at her, as if to check for the dishonesty, but there was no trace of that on her face, which seemed fragile and undecided.

"You were right" she went on, her voice becoming smaller, defeated "You are the best thing that ever happened to her" she said and he cringed, reminded of the cheesy line he managed to utter right here a couple of months ago.

"...even if you should be fined for saying that sentence" she chuckled nervously.

"I know, I am surprised the ego police didn't do a raid when I did" he played along, admitting his fault.

"Oh, they were busy with Alec Baldwin that day I guess" she said, not missing a beat and he laughed, reminded that her resemblances to Rory made her bearable for him.

He sipped his coffee, a comfortable silence settling over them as they resumed the study of the holiday landscape.

"She said she is writing a book" he heard her speak again and he looked at her again, studying her face.

It was once again nervous and he suddenly felt sorry for her, a mother who thought had lost that close connection to her own child that she had for so long.

He never really understood that connection, not having experienced anything like that in his own life, but he knew how important it was for both of them, even if in the course of the last couple of years it seemed to crumble a bit as Rory felt increasingly alienated from her own dreams and aspirations.

What he saw now, a mother, silently, wordlessly admitting that she no longer had the strongest hold on her own daughter, no longer had the most important role in her life, was devastating in a sense and he felt a wave of guilt wash over him, for not having understood her motives before.

He always hated her manipulating, her emotional intimidation, but he had to admit that it stemmed from her love and her fear of loss.

"Yeah" he said clearing his throat "she's been working on it a lot actually" he said.

"Wow" she mouthed "She is writing... a book" she repeated, in quiet wonder.

He looked at her again, happy to see the pride shining in her eyes.

"She is incredible you know" he said and she turned to him suddenly, her eyes flashing with what he thought might be hurt and he wondered for a second if she was hurt by the fact that he was the one to know that. In a second though it was gone, and what he saw instead was a woman, thankful for any information he would give.

"She sits there for hours, pounding away on her laptop" he went on, a smile unconsciously seeping onto his face "she gets so immersed, so... involved... it's just" he sighed relieved "good to watch".

He saw her smile with pride again.

"She's gonna be fine, Lorelai" he said, turning to face her "I really think so".

A thankful chuckle broke from her chest as she squeezed her eyes shut, as if willing the tears not to form and he sighed, for the first time in his life, feeling a real connection with the mother of the girl he adored.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Where have you been?" she said, with the best accusing tone she could muster as she managed to strike a pose of the bitter partner on the porch.

He looked up, distracted by her voice, his eyes sparkling with recognition as his gaze met hers.

She couldn't help smiling herself, seeing his joy, seemingly abandoning the plan to scold him.

"I...took a walk" he gestured vaguely, his smile still present on his face as he stopped on his way to the porch, looking at her instead.

"You hate the family holiday that much?" she asked, laughing.

"No" he shook his head "it's just that, I love..." he trailed of turning around, to gesture at the sleeping houses in the distance "this" he finished and she stared at him frowning.

"Star's Hollow?" she asked incredulous.

"No" he chuckled, turning back to her.

"This night. How all the streets are deserted, with only the festiveness remaining. It's sort of... magical" he explained.

She arched an eyebrow.

"Too much of the eggnog?" she asked, suspicious.

He chuckled.

"It's actually coffee" he whispered, stepping closer to her.

"She still puts plenty of booze in it" she whispered back, welcoming him in her arms as he finally stepped onto the porch.

"Oh, so that's what it was" he played along, amused.

"Ah-hah" she nodded, keeping a straight face as she settled into his hold.

"Is that why you look so damn good to me right about now?" he whispered smugly as he nuzzled her neck.

She jumped a little, his cold nose visibly sending a chill down her body as it touched her warm skin.

She chuckled, pulling back slightly.

"So much for the magical sanctity of Christmas Eve" she raised an eyebrow.

He chuckled, brushing away stray strands of hair from her face.

"How are the Weirdos?" he asked, his voice a content murmur.

She arched an eyebrow.

"If by 'Weirdos' you mean my family, my flesh and blood" she started, her voice in mock hurt "they passed out on cinnamon cookies and went to bed" she finished chuckling.

"It is pretty late, I guess" he said, suddenly feeling the weight of the day, the week, the year in fact.

He let go of her, taking her hand into his as he walked up to the front door, quietly opening it.

He had to admit, if there ever was a way to shock therapy him out of the frightful memories of laboratory precision Christmas family events and sterile celebrations of his childhood, it would be stepping into the Gilmore-Danes residence at the end of December.

The heavy smell of the pine branches covering every free inch of the house hit him as he stepped into the dark and warm hallway.

A million little lights twinkled inside the living room, a huge and cheerful tree standing at the center, with dozens of colorful boxes of presents. The tree was eclectic to say the least, with ornaments that didn't match or go well together, but somehow still managed to speak volumes of family, tradition and love.

The whole house was nauseatingly saturated with Christmas memorabilia, including the dancing Santa dolls and red nose flashing Rudolphs that Lorelai somehow managed to sneak past Luke. He stood for a second, the sight of the decorated house taking him by force even after having stared at the details all afternoon.

He felt Rory yank on his hand, pulling him with her inside, towards her room.

Her small bedroom had not been spared by Lorelai, the bed covered with a holiday themed quilt, lights framing the headboard and branches of decorated pine scattered on the walls.

He eyed a bouquet of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling directly above Rory's tiny bed.

"What?" he heard her amused voice, hushed to a whisper, a tone they were used to speaking in whenever they were in her old room and the house was already quiet.

"I'm not sure if I feel comfortable with your mother encouraging me to kiss you in your childhood bed while she is upstairs" he said in mock concentration.

She burst out in a quiet set of giggles.

"Yes, and when did that ever stop you?" she asked.

He smirked, knowing it never did, and never would and he felt a sudden rush of calmness realizing that. He stood in the middle of her room, watching her discard the articles of winter gear and he realized he was still standing there in his coat.

"You okay?" she asked him, stepping closer, her hands helping him take his coat off.

He didn't answer, giving her only a smile as he stepped out of his shoes and went to sit on her bed.

There was always a mattress set up next to her bed, whenever they were forced to spend the night there, but it was rarely used. He always opted to instead go and spend the whole of the night in an uncomfortable stiff position as Rory clung to his chest, staring up at the ceiling and imagining her in this room when she was still a Chilton student.

She sat down next to him, pulling him out of his reverie.

"Thank you for coming with me" she whispered "I know you don't like this whole spectacle" she went on, her voice an apologetic whisper.

"I don't mind" he shrugged with a small smile, lying graciously.

He caught her staring at him, her eyes squeezed lightly in a look of concentration and he knew there were questions to come.

He sighed, before opening his mouth to speak.

"Whatcha pondering about, Gilmore?"

She sighed, and he could see her trying to formulate her question.

"Did you always hate Christmas?" she finally said and he sighed, falling back on the bed as she took her position next to him, her head coming to rest on his chest.

"I just never particularly liked it" he brushed it off "it always seemed more of a nuance than an actual holiday. There were company parties, where I would be pranced around, and my parents would leave on Christmas morning for their annual Caribbean cruise" he explained, surprising himself with the way his voice sounded: matter of fact, calm, disinterested.

He was just never into the whole deal, to be perfectly honest. Sure, he would submit a list of things he wanted to his father's secretary in November, and the gifts would arrive, in uniform wrappers by the first week of December to wait patiently under the custom ordered tree for the whole of the month, but how was that different from any other part of the year?

There was no warmness, no reasons to have a nervous expectation of things to come and over the years he came to see Christmas for what it really was in his point of view: unnecessarily rushing, excessive public stress and annoying music.

"They did the cruise when you were small too?" he heard her quiet question, her voiced slightly in shock.

He had to smile at her worry for him. He wanted to hug her close, reassure her that it was alright, that he wasn't forever brutally emotionally mutilated by these experiences, but he realized he probably was in her eyes. From the land of warm and weird family traditions of decorating the tree, baking Christmas cookies and waiting breathlessly for that stack of encyclopedias you really, really wanted, his childhood was an example of complete emotional abandonment.

"I didn't mind, I liked that the house was quiet around then" he said, his voice solemn as he realized that would disappoint her even more.

"What about your grandfather?" came her hopeful inquiry.

He sighed, the pang he felt whenever reminded of the only family member he valued but lost, evidently stinging his chest.

"He wasn't much of a holiday person" he wondered out loud, thinking back on the quiet seriousness of the old man that seemed to influence him in more ways than he came to recognize back then. He wondered if his disinterest in all things joyful was a result of his grandfather's strange view that Christmas itself was created by greedy toy factory owners and greeting card companies.

"You must have a nice memory" she sat up, looking at him with concerned eyes.

"Hmm" he wondered, his gaze fixed onto the ceiling of the room as his hand tangled in her silky hair.

"There was this time, I must have been around 8" he murmured, closing his eyes, trying to grasp the memory "I remember Christmas Eve and having dinner. My father just got back from a business trip from London and I could tell my mom was pleased because she let me open a present early" he said, the words flowing from his mouth.

He saw her watch him, with a calm smile on her face.

"What was in it?" she asked, a childish sparkle in her eyes.

"It was a model of a BE2c plane from the Royal Aircraft Factory" he said, squinting his eyes, trying to recall the lines of the delicate structure of the veteran plane "I was blown away by it" he chuckled.

"Your dad brought it from London?" she asked, her voice warm, giddy almost.

He smiled a bitter smile, remembering the part of the memory that didn't initially cross his mind.

"Yeah, that's what I thought" he murmured "but then I realized he couldn't have" he added.

Rory's face grew confused and sad as she studied his eyes, waiting for his explanation.

"I realized the package had the same wrapper as the rest, that it had been there for weeks, sitting under the tree" he said, shrugging slightly.

"My mother must have ordered it, to make it seem like he brought it. She could have been a bit more suave not wrapping it in the same paper as the rest" he chuckled.

"Maybe she had some paper left and she wrapped it in the same thing, but he did bring it" she offered and he sighed, not convinced.

He got up from the bed unconsciously wanting to end the futile discussion, walking out of the room towards the kitchen, hearing her trail behind him.

"Did you ever ask him about it?" she said, not letting the subject drop.

"No" he replied and he suddenly felt annoyed by the fact that she was so intent on trying to prove that he did have nice memories of this god forsaken holiday.

"Well, then how do you know, maybe he did" she said, but he could tell her on conviction faltered, her face solemn as she watched him get a bottle of water from the fridge. He took a sip out of the bottle facing her as he leaned against the counter.

"Well" she said, her face suddenly determined "you do have nice memories, okay?"

He looked at her part amused and part curious, the adorable way her brows furrowed in concentration making him smile.

"Like remember that first year?" she came closer to him, and he placed the bottle on the counter to be able to wrap his arms around her "I had just moved in a couple of months prior and I had to spend weeks convincing you to agree to get a Christmas tree?"

He chuckled, remembering the quiet shock she first presented when he wasn't particularly eager at having to drag a six foot pine tree up to his penthouse apartment. He resisted for several weeks and in the end she ended up sneaking a tree up on Christmas Eve.

"Oh, the one we ended up decorating with paper clips and toilet paper?" he asked amused.

"Well, I can't be held accountable for the fact that you had no ornaments what so ever. Or anything slightly joyful and cheery for that matter" she pouted.

He remembered that she spent the whole night in frantic search coming up with very little to put on the tree, but it ended up looking surprisingly full nevertheless, his expert skills of making origami swans perfected during years of boring meetings finally paying off.

The finished product looked disheveled at best, but it seemed to put her over the moon and he remembered making love to her right next to that tree, the pine tree leaves littered on the floor stinging his back.

"Or that time that I got you that comic book?" she asked and he remembered the prior year when he received a custom made comic book titled 'Bible Boy', the main character being a hotshot lawyer by day, masked crime fighter by night, with a hot reporter finding out his true identity. He remembered being amazed by her creativity and humor and the fact that she seemed to be so happy seeing him appreciate the gift. Rory was a perfectionist when it came to giving gifts, going to extremes to finding just the right thing that was personal and over the top.

"Or the time that I came to your office dressed as a Christmas tree?" she murmured huskily, kissing him.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of her tongue and the hazy pictures that sprung into his mind of her arriving at his office one day two years ago in a trench coat, before discarding it to reveal a delicate string of tinsel going around her bare body. It took him very little time to rip it off of her, the cleaning lady later complaining for weeks about the pieces of shiny paper covering his office floor.

He smiled at the memory and he pulled her closer, kissing the side of her neck gently as he lifted her to place her onto the kitchen table.

She wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him closer and he found her mouth with his, enjoying the taste of cinnamon in her mouth. He pulled away slightly, his whole body buzzing with an awakening arousal.

"You are right" he murmured "I do have nice memories" he said, before glancing up towards the doorway of the kitchen.

"Like remember the time we got caught doing the dirty by Luke on Christmas Eve?" he asked amused and she stared at him in shock.

"We never got caught by Lu..." she started, trailing off as realization dawned on her.

She twisted in his loosening hold, turning around to see a very taken aback Luke Danes standing in his pajamas.

She pushed Tristan off of herself instantly, blushing as she gestured wildly.

"I... uh... came down to get some water" Luke explained with a pained look.

"We were just..." she mumbled and he couldn't help but laugh at both of their discomfort as she pulled him towards her bedroom.

They all mumbled their good byes and she closed the bedroom door after themselves, her face still in a furious blush.

"Now that is a nice memory" he chuckled.

"What?" she asked, incredulous.

"You resembling a Christmas ornament" he chuckled, tracing her blush across her cheeks.

"Shut up" she mumbled trying to seem annoyed, but a smile was creeping through.

"Let me see if the rest of your body is that festive too" he murmured huskily pulling her down on to the bed with him.

"Tris" she scolded him, whispering "Luke is right here next door" she said, blushing again.

"Are you kidding me? He is probably upstairs by now, scrubbing his brain" he chuckled, ignoring her protest as he pulled her closer.

"Besides" he pointed up "you can't refuse" he smirked as he watched her look up, her clear blue eyes focusing on the mistletoe hanging right above their head.

"Well, aren't you lucky it's Christmas" she chuckled, succumbing to his will as she kissed him, her body melting into his hold as he pulled her even closer.

"I sure am" he murmured his reply against her lips, for once in his life, actually meaning it.


	22. Salvation

She climbed the stairs to the courtroom, trying to hold back her smile.

She rarely came to watch him, because it still felt like she was trespassing into private territory. He seemed so serious about his work, so concentrated. But also, he made a point to keep his work and private life separate. He was very determined with every assignment he took on, but he never brought work home. Instead, he stayed in, late into the night if needed, at the office. He rarely spoke about cases, even if she could tell they were bothering him. She learned that this wasn't a result of him not wanting to share it with her, but simply him trying to keep his life away from his work, not letting it taint every aspect of it.

She could tell he still had regrets about having chosen this field of profession. He told her this once, in a sudden bout of honesty, that he wished he could have ended up doing something else than the family legacy required him to do, but it seemed to him, that he was meant to do it.

She was also convinced the first time she saw him deliver a closing argument. He seemed to be a different person, someone performing, someone so dedicated, so serious, that it made the hairs on her back stand on end. His eyes shone with a feverish determination and his speech was so convincing, so undeniably logical, she almost felt sorry for his opponent.

She opened the door to the courtroom and sneaked in, standing in the last row, hiding behind the onlookers. It was a big case, she knew and he had been in the office until almost midnight the day before. She didn't ask, but she knew he was preparing a closing argument.

He had been nervous all week, not the nervous anyone would notice, but the nervous that was characteristically Tristan. He ran religiously every morning, but this week, he came home early from his jogs, not running his usual ten laps. She could tell he didn't have enough patience, wanting to get to the office as soon as possible, ideas probably bursting in his head.

He was distracted during dinner, only partly listening to her ramble about the latest gossip in Stars Hollow. And then there was the sex. She didn't particularly dislike that change, but it was also a telltale sign of him being under immense pressure. He would be urgent, efficient and incredibly raw, taking her like a storm, raging and strong.

She wondered for years how she could make these periods more easy for him, but the conclusion always was that it was better to give him his space. He didn't like to ponder thoughts and feelings and she knew herself that she wasn't particularly the best subject to bounce legal ideas off of, so she accepted this is how it would be. She got ready for the strained endgame and the post-win blues. Tristan was like a map she knew by heart.

She watched him, halting in his speech for the briefest of seconds, looking at the jury, and her heart began to race suddenly, knowing she couldn't concentrate on the case if she were to sit there and he were to look at her with those eyes of his.

Not like she could concentrate anyways. Most of Tristan's cases were so inexplicably foreign to her, what with business jargon and taxation protocols she didn't even knew existed, that it made her head spin. She was never good with anything remotely related to anything legal, still relying on her mother to explain to her about filing her taxes, handling her social security or anything more complicated than buying a movie ticket.

He on the other hand seemed to have an incredible talent for it. Deciphering and creating sentences that she couldn't even find the verbs in. Tristan was a natural born lawyer. Even if that fact burdened him.

She smiled as he finished his speech, taking one last look at the jury and then retreating to his desk.

He looked so grown up, so serious, it was hard for her to grasp that this was the same person that she knew back in high school, spiky haired and horrible mannered.

moments until the voice, the face and the memories all collected in her head to result in clarity and even then she forgot to breathe for a second.

Her reverie ended suddenly when she heard a strangely familiar voice. Her head whipped towards the person of origin, her mind reeling as she identified the source. It took her long.

She looked at the man, so familiar but also strangely different, seemingly older than the couple of years she hadn't seen him would have called for. He spoke slowly, eloquently, starting his own argument, opposing Tristan's.

His professionalism, logical, clear and simple way of speaking seemed to be the most unidentifiable for Rory, as her mind couldn't quite process the fact that Colin McCrae was a honorable, responsible lawyer.

Yes, it was him without a doubt, and she realized that she hadn't seen him since she graduated. In hindsight, it seemed strange that someone who was present during most of her years in college and was such a constant presence in her life for a long time, would just disappear. Then again, it wasn't the only thing that ended abruptly right after graduation, leaving her to rebuild her life, her goals, herself. She stood transfixed, unable to take her eyes off the ghost of her past even as she found it impossible to concentrate on his words, her mind spinning out of control with the new found information.

She knew for a fact that Tristan knew who Colin was, having both been brought up in society families in Hartford, and even though it seemed to give him great pain to listen to her talk about anything in her past that was in any relation to one of her exes, he was well aware of her friendship with Logan's buddies.

Her mood shifted slowly, her chest suddenly feeling tighter than before as realization dawned on her. She glanced at Tristan, who sat behind his assigned desk, listening calmly to his opponent's words, his face not telling of any emotions present. She had a nauseating realization that he must have been using that very same front with her when he forgot to mention the unimportant detail of him being up against the best friend of her former flame.

Her heartbeat sped up and she wondered for a second if she was overreacting.

She studied Tristan's face for the smallest hint of something that could help her understand his motives, but his face seemed emotionless, almost foreign.

She was startled by the sudden lack of silence in the courtroom and she realized that Colin's speech had ended already, the judge dismissing the courtroom until further notice. People moved past her and she suddenly felt the lack of air in her lungs, as if she had remembered after a long time to take a breath.

She moved passively to give way to people retreating towards the exit, her eyes focused on Tristan who exchanged a couple of words with his team and gathered his stuff to leave as well.

Their eyes met and he froze mid movement. For a second she could have sworn she saw him glance towards the desk of the other camp, but she couldn't be certain. He left his partners behind, walking up to her, his face calm, but his eyes reflecting concern.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his hand reaching out to touch her arm ever so lightly, as if probing.

"I...I came to see you" she replied hesitantly.

There was a moment of silence between them and she could see he was not going to address the situation, if his life depended on it.

"That's Colin McCrea" she said, her declaration matter of fact, her voice a mixture of hurt, confusion and anger.

He didn't answer, his eyes focused on hers and it pissed her off to no end.

"Tristan, you've been working on this case for weeks" she whispered, looking around, acknowledging the very public place they were in, but her body's every cell had been fired up with the anger that started to boil.

He didn't reply, dropping his gaze to the floor, which made him look guilty, even though she knew he almost never felt guilty about anything.

Her eyes squeezed slightly in concentration, as the thought occurred to her that if he didn't feel guilt, he must have had a good reason to not tell her.

"Why didn't you mention it?" she asked, even as she knew she wasn't going to get a clear answer so easily.

He took a deep breath as if contemplating how to answer that. He came up with a shrug that enraged her even more.

"Fine" she answered, moving past him towards the front of the courtroom.

"Rory" he called after her, his voice urgent, worried, but she took no note of it, determined to forget about him for a minute, as his actions could only be interpreted by her at that point as jealousy, which seemed childish and ridiculous.

She walked towards Colin who was still at his desk at the front of the courtroom, the crowd already cleared out from around him.

She came to stop a couple of steps away from him and he looked up, a flash of surprise apparent in his eyes.

"Rory Gilmore" he stated, his voice matter of fact, slightly cold even, and it made her feel strange.

He returned to packing away documents from the desk, even as he had a slight smile on his face.

"Colin, wow, I haven't seen you..." she smiled.

"In a while" he finished for her, finally finishing packing away stuff. He took a step towards her, coming to stand in front of her.

He glanced behind her, and she unconsciously turned to see what he was looking at.

She saw Tristan, still standing where she left him, his eyes showing concern, but the rest of his face as unreadable as ever.

He turned around, walking out of the courtroom, leaving them behind.

"Tristan is my..." she turned back to him, feeling a need to explain her presence.

"I know" he cut her off and she looked at him surprised.

"You two talked?" she asked, feeling slightly uneasy.

"Only about tax related issues" he chuckled and she realized that it wouldn't be the only way how he could have known.

Being a society child meant constant updates on other society children.

She suddenly realized the awkwardness of the situation, and she felt a slight bit less mad about Tristan not having mentioned this whole ordeal to her. Here were two young professionals, up against each other in a room full of people that knew nothing of the strange and invisible tie that connected them.

"You look good, Rory" his warm words snapped her out of her thoughts and she watched surprised as he moved past her towards the exit.

"Hey" she turned around, stopping him in his way "I haven't seen you in years, you're just gonna walk off like that?" she chuckled, genuinely surprised.

He turned around and her smile was frozen onto her face as she saw the nervous indifference on his face.

He spread his arms slightly in a gesture of undecidedness and she looked on surprised.

"Take care" he said as a goodbye and turned back towards the exit.

She stared after him in shock, an uneasy feeling settling over her. She suddenly felt as though there was something she should feel guilty for, something she'd forgotten about, making her heart race and her breathing uneven.

She walked out of the courtroom in a haze, stepping outside into the cold winter afternoon.

It was still light, but she could see the beginning of dusk, coming way to early. Her breath was visible and she closed her eyes, letting the cold air cool her burning face.

She opened her eyes again and she saw Tristan, standing on the top part of the steps in front of the building.

She walked down towards him, coming to stop next to him on the steps.

He turned to look at her, his face concerned.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"Why did you not tell me about him?" she asked, her voice now clear of emotions, plain curious.

He took a deep breath.

"I don't know, I didn't want you to..." he started, trailing off.

"To see that he is so indifferent towards me?" she asked and she saw him furrow his brows.

His silence was affirmation and she suddenly felt like the two men knew more than her, that she was somehow oblivious to something that was evident to them even without having spoken about anything.

"It's not indifference, Rory" he sighed.

"Then what?" she asked, genuinely confused.

"He is Logan's friend" he stated, as if that sentence alone could explain everything.

"He was my friend too" she retorted, not wanting to accept the explanation.

"He is Logan's friend" he repeated, and the sentence sounded like a conviction, momentarily silencing her.

She stood, letting the meaning of his words sink in.

"So he is loyal to him by not talking to me?" she asked slowly.

"You broke the guy's heart, Rory" he said, the words coming out as though it was painful for them to say it.

"That was years... I didn't break his..." she stuttered, but gave up eventually, letting the silence settle on them.

"How" she shook her head "how did you know all this if you didn't talk to him about it?" she asked, suddenly more concerned about Tristan's part in all this.

He looked at her with a confused expression.

"You didn't talk to me about him, because you were trying to protect me from this disappointment, right?" she spelled it out for him, frustrated, finally understanding his motives herself.

He stood there, silently, his face concerned and worried.

"How did you know that he would be like this?" she demanded, her heart racing with worry.

He exhaled a deep breath, as if finally giving in.

"You broke his heart, Rory" he repeated, his voice calm, extremely quiet "you probably broke him for good. And no friends like to see their friend broken to pieces" he finished, averting his eyes.

Dusk was starting to win and there was less and less light, making hard for her to read his face.

It made sense to her, his theory, and the knowledge that someone was out there still feeling hurt enough about something that happened so long ago, to result in his friends refusing to talk to her, made her feel ashamed. But even worse was the nagging feeling in her chest.

She turned to him.

"You agree with him" she said slowly, the meaning of her own words sinking in.

"What?" he asked, his tone slightly annoyed.

"You agree with Colin" she repeated herself, clarifying.

The muscles in his jaws twitched and she felt the ground lift beneath her feet.

"What is this, some sick male fraternity? Comeradry above all?" she asked, incredulous.

"Rory" he called out her name, glancing around annoyed. His attempt to calm her made her even more enraged.

"You are taking his side" she pointed out.

"I' not taking anyone's fucking side" he shot back "what the hell do you want me to say?"

"I want you to say that he is ridiculous and that I shouldn't give a damn!" she shot back, her voice trembling.

"You shouldn't" he replied, his voice tense.

"I am not the villain here" she shot at him.

He exhaled again, defeated, his face mirroring hurt.

"Tristan" she called his name, her voice shocked "You think that that's what I do? I go and break people?"

"Rory" he rubbed his eyes "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"No. I have to know if you are in a relationship with me thinking the other shoe is going to drop any second" she said, her voice incredulous.

"I do think that, Rory!" he shot and the intensity of his voice, the pure emotion on his face shocked her to silence.

"I live like that day after day. I can't fucking do anything but hope that it will stay the way it is now, but I don't know for sure. Cause who knows if you're going to wake up one day changing your mind again. I do it, because there is nothing else I can do, because I don't want to go and live my life broken up. But it's a fucking risk. Every day is a fucking risk with you" he finished, turning around and walking down the steps of the building, disappearing into the falling darkness.

She stared after him, shocked, unable to speak or move. The air around her felt warm, despite her knowing better and the light seemed to drain from around her by the second. She willed herself to breathe, her heart racing wildly as he disappeared from her sight.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

She didn't know how she got home. She realized that she must have been walking around town without rhyme or reason for hours because her hands were frozen lifeless, her knuckles painfully white as she fished her keys from her pocket.

She took a breath before inserting the key into the lock, not knowing what would wait behind the door.

She opened it slowly, stepping in quietly.

"Thank god" she heard his voice and she looked up to see him approach her with a relieved expression.

She inhaled sharply, surprised by his reaction and the fact that he was home waiting for her.

"Mary, I'm sorry" he whispered as he reached her, his hand going around her neck to pull her close.

She breathed a sigh of relief, even as the guilt still pulsated within her.

He whispered into her hair, his words inarticulate, feverish, hugging her close.

He pulled away, his hands brushing back the hair from her face, his eyes studying her face.

"Tristan" she whispered, her whole body shivering, the warmth of the apartment not yet reaching her cold body.

"I.." he started, his eyes closing for a long second "I don't know why I said those things" he frowned.

"Because they are true" she cut in and he looked up shaking his head.

"Rory, no, I didn't..." he pleaded.

"You are right. You are right to feel like that" she cut him off again "But how can you be with me, if you really feel like that?" she asked, her voice trembling with fear.

"I can't be without you" he stared into her eyes, his voice calm.

She exhaled unevenly, not convinced.

"I am not going to lie. Ever. You killed me and you broke me, but I had to realize that being apart from you is harder for me to handle than living with this insecurity. So I accepted that and I am here, okay? I am here" he said and he seemed so convincing, so reasonable it made her forget her own imperfections.

She shook her head, trying to clear it.

"I can't fix this. I can't do anything, to make you not feel like this" she started, not looking into his eyes "but that's all I want. I wish I could wipe the slate clean and not see that hurt I caused" she rambled, and she felt like she did when she was writing, not able to voice the words that seemed to swim in her mind.

"Rory" he said, his hand lifting her chin so their eyes were leveled "You wipe the slate clean every day" he went on and she looked at him, furrowing her brows to understand him.

He groaned frustrated as if he were having trouble expressing himself, trying to find words, but his eyes were shining confidently, a small smile creeping onto his features as he started to talk carefully.

"You wipe it clean with every morning that I wake up and you are in our bed, sleeping cuddled into the sheets. With every night that I come home and you sit in the couch with your laptop. With every sentence you write. With every time that you meet me on the street to have lunch with me. You wipe it clean every time you make love to me, every time you call my name and every time you shiver in my arms" he said, his words becoming a quiet whisper as she closed her eyes, feeling the heat creep up on her face. He pulled her closer, his mouth moving against her ears as he went on.

"You fix it with every hum and every glide of your hand and every silence that you keep around me when I need it. You heal me with every moment you are with me. With every day I am more whole, more at peace" he went on.

"I am sorry I ever made you feel guilty" he sighed "there is no reason for you to feel guilty. You give me life" she exhaled sharply, listening to him finish his speech as he pulled her into tight hold.

She felt the warmth of him penetrate her skin, defrosting her limbs and reaching deep within her chest.

"I love you" she whispered, her voice shaking as she clung to him.

"I know" he said, his voice calm, kissing her into relieved calmness.


	23. Like lovers do

Making love to her was something that never ceased to amaze him.

Every time he thought he'd mastered her, knew every little touch to make her gasp and pause and writhe and burst and cling to him, every time he thought he'd know just how to make her quiver and lose it giving all to him, but each and every time his control would falter, his senses getting too absorbed in her scent and sounds, his own body betraying him as his every part seemed to numb with pleasure as he moved inside her.

She would move ever so lightly, or moan into his ear and his control would be lost, his sight blacked out, his chest heaving for air as he pushed into her for release, not able to restrain or guide his own movements anymore.

And the way she would come in his arms was his undoing. She would shiver, gasping for breath as goosebumps formed on her skin. Her eyes would squeeze tightly and she would pant out once, twice, three times, before moaning his name as her body would spasm and release, her sex the center of her convulsions, making him loose all focus.

He willed himself to keep his eyes open as he panted hard. His reward was the couple of seconds of her high dissolving that he could study from close proximity as he held himself still above her. Her face would relax, her slow, uneven breaths helping her whole body release the last joint effort with which it fell over the edge.

He studied the lines of her face slowly disappearing, and her lips curl into a blissful smile as she released one long breath.

Her eyes fluttered open and she blushed self conscious, as his eyes still studied her every movement.

"What are you doing?" she whispered shyly, her voice still shaking.

"Uhm... I think I just fucked you" he replied, his voice deep and raspy from exertion, his smugness earning him a slap on the arm.

"No" she laughed "why are you staring?"

He smiled, his heartbeat slowly returning to normal as he relaxed on top of her, not feeling any motivation to extricate himself from her hold.

"Because you are beautiful" he replied, his face becoming more serious.

He watched as she blushed again, the thin layer of perspiration making her chest shine in the low light of their room.

"God" she groaned, covering her face with her hands.

He snickered, rolling off of her.

He climbed out of bed, not bothering to put anything on as he headed toward the door.

"Look, who's talking" she teased and he turned back to see her on her side, her eyes roaming his naked body, her face still slightly alight.

He smirked noting that she couldn't even flirt with him without blushing. He walked out to the kitchen, getting a bottle of water from the fridge, immediately drinking up half of it, before heading back towards the bedroom, taking the rest of the water back to share with her.

He froze in the middle of the living room, his eyes caught on something. He moved to the table taking the opened letter into his hands. His brows furrowed as he skimmed over the lines and sighed.

He returned to the bedroom, finding her still in bed, her face in a satisfied smile. He walked up to the bed, sitting down on the edge.

Her expression turned annoyed when she saw the letter he was holding.

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" he asked concerned.

She sighed, snatching the letter from his hands and dropping it on the nightstand.

"I stopped telling you about rejections after the 25th" she replied, turning back to him.

He watched her, studying her expression.

"I'm sorry" he whispered, not knowing what else to say.

She shook her head, forcing out a smile.

"Don't worry about it. I don't know what I was thinking" she shrugged.

"Rory" he stopped her, but she took a deep breath to continue.

"No, Tristan, it's fine. Do you know how many writers are out there? I don't know why I thought I'd write a book and literary agents would fall over themselves to publish it" she scoffed.

"Rory, it's just a couple of rejections" he tried to sooth her.

"47 rejections" she pointed out, falling back into the bed, exhaling "I guess it's not as good as I thought" she mumbled.

"It is good, Rory" he said, laying down next to her, pulling her close "I loved it."

"That's cause you get to have sex with me" she joked, her face brightening up with a small smile.

He sighed, knowing she was diverting, but he didn't have the heart to push for anything more.

"Maybe we could get the publishers to put a coupon in there" he wondered out aloud.

She giggled, burying her face into his chest.

"You think I should offer sex with a copy of my book?" she laughed.

"It would sell like candy" he replied in mock seriousness.

She laughed wholeheartedly.

"And you wouldn't mind that?" she asked amused.

"Hey, everything for art" he shrugged.

She resumed her laughter and he could feel her body relax in his hold.

He sighed pulling her closer to him.

"Rory" he started to whisper, his voice thick with concern and worry.

"It's alright, let's just forget about it" she cut him off immediately and he saw her force a smile onto her face, her beautiful blue eyes shining with determination.

"Okay" he whispered, giving in.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

He walked into the great hall of the library, balancing the two cups of coffee that were still scorching enough to burn through his mittens.

His eyes searched around and found her, standing by one of the desks. She was on her feet, packing away notes and she was explaining something, features animated, expression overexcited, to the last person still present of her class.

He looked at the teenager with interest, as he leaned against the wall of the room, content to be out of sight as he watched her in this new role that she seemed to really enjoy.  
She talked with such passion, such conviction that he couldn't suppress his urge to smile. He was out of hearing range, but he could imagine she was talking about the wonders of whatever book they were currently discussing in class. He loved her intensity, loved her dedication. Loved that she never did anything halfheartedly.

His eyes drifted to the boy listening to Rory intently and his lips curled up in a smile.

Wow.

He hadn't seen that look in a while.

Then again, he was certainly not shocked.

The teenager stared at Rory, with apparent awe, his fingers nervously fidgeting with the seams of his backpack as he watched her speak, watched her every move.

Tristan could tell she wasn't aware of the affect she had on this kid. God, was she ever.

For a second he felt sorry for the poor kid, knowing exactly what it felt to be unreciprocatedly infatuated with Rory Gilmore when you were a horny teenager.

Suddenly all his compassion seemed to vanish at that thought and he pushed himself off the wall, walking up to them in long strides.

Her eyes lit up when she met his eyes.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" she asked, turning to him as the boy looked at Tristan with an obvious disappointment in his eyes.

He leaned in, kissing her swiftly, pointedly before handing her a cup of coffee.

"Thought I'd bring you some coffee" he replied easily.

He watched as Rory blushed slightly, no doubt horrified by the fact that one of her students just witnessed her kissing Tristan.

The kid seemed to catch the drift though and he shuffled to move away from them.

"Thanks Miss Gilmore, I'll see you next week" he said, heading out towards the exit.

"Alright, Pete, good job" she replied.

Tristan watched him depart with a sense of guilt but also content.

"Miss Gilmore" he repeated, his voice a raspy whisper as he tasted the sound.

She chuckled, dropping into a chair in exhaustion. She took the cup of coffee in her hand, inhaling deep before taking a sip.

"Mmmmm" she hummed, joy spreading throughout all her features and he laughed quietly as he took a chair across from her.

"You are a life saver" she hummed, looking up at him.

"You are totally giving that guy wet dreams" he replied without missing a beat.

She choked on her coffee, coughing violently as she gasped for air.

"What?" she hissed, trying to keep her voice down, taking note of the angry stares that were hitting them thanks to her sudden coughing fit.

He smiled.

"Rory, he was practically drooling" Tristan pointed out.

"What?" she asked again "No, that's not... no" she said shaking her head.

"You are so ridiculous" she brushed him off.

"You are so dense" he replied, a smile threatening to erupt on his face.

She gave him a look before taking a deep breath to launch into an explanation.

"He handed in this paper on the book we were reading and I was telling him what a great job he did. He... he had this incredible theory, I never even thought of it before from that perspective..." she ranted, her look suddenly drifting off as she no doubt recalled the points of the lucky kid's essay.

"He is really good" she went on, her voice suddenly serious, contemplative "I think he has an actual gift, he is so good with words" she went on.

"But then again, what do I know" she murmured, barely audible as she stood to finish her packing.

"Hey" he reached out, grabbing her hand to command her attention.

"Rory" he said, his tone slightly surprised.

She sighed, closing her eyes.

"I know, self pity, so ridiculous" she scoffed.

"Hey" he tried again, standing up to walk over to her side of the desk, "Rory, look, things are gonna turn around, okay? We'll send out new copies, and surely someone will be in their right mind..."

"Tristan" she stopped him, releasing a frustrated sigh "I don't want to do that anymore."

"What?" he asked, not sure he knew what she meant.

"Look, it was a nice experience, writing that... and I don't think it's bad per say..." she faltered, collecting her thoughts "but maybe I was too obsessed with the whole process and I didn't see it for what it was" she finished, seemingly struggling the right words to express herself.

"For what it was?" he repeated her words, his voice insecure as he felt the whole mood change.

He felt as though he was suddenly on dangerous ground.

"Yes. It was..." she searched for the right word "therapeutic. And a relief even, to be writing again."

"If you're going to say 'but maybe that's not what I'm supposed to be doing' I am going to spill coffee on the Hemingway section" he warned, his body tense as he watched her chuckle.

"I wasn't going to say that" she said rolling her eyes.

He looked at her wearily.

"I know I am supposed to write. I know that it's what makes me happy and I just need to find the right... form" she shrugged.

"So what if that stupid novel wasn't the right form?" she asked looking at him smiling.

"It doesn't matter. That novel doesn't matter. All that matters is that I am not going to do something that doesn't make me happy anymore and I am not going to let that influence me and my life, and destroy the things that do make me happy, okay?" she asked, her voice exhilarated.

He sighed, knowing she was determined.

"That's great Rory" he said, hating to drag her mind back to obsessing again "but that novel _is_ good" he said "and you shouldn't give up on it, just because the first couple of agents failed to realize that."

She sighed, obviously annoyed by his persistence. She put on her coat and grabbed her bag.

"Well, it's out there" she stated simply as she walked towards the exit, forcing him to follow her "It's on a table in every single publishing company in this country, or dark room, or pile of work to be read, or where ever they keep books no one gives a shit about and if someday someone ever reads it and finds it interesting in the least bit, they have my contact" she said reaching the door and turning back to smile at him brilliantly "and if not, then that's fine too" she added before walking out into the street.

He stood behind, staring at the swinging door, sighing wearily as he found the strength to follow her.

xxxxxxxxxxx

He was standing in the doorway of her study.

Practically, it was still his study, in his apartment, but he had not set foot in there since she started writing again.

This was her territory, her sanctuary and he wasn't even sure he would feel familiar with the walls and windows and bookcases inside.

He leaned against the door frame, staring at the lone desk, with her laptop on it.

Their evening discussion replayed in his head and he felt anxiety, a kind of pressure he had not felt in a long while.

Her words made sense and she certainly seemed to have made peace with the situation, but he couldn't help feeling cheated. Feeling like it was wrong to let this go, to give this up.

He remembered the day she placed the manuscript in his hand, before he left for the office. He remembered her face in a slight flush and how she purposely chose the moment before he was about to walk out of to door, heading toward the office. Knowing that he wouldn't have a chance to question or to stay and talk if he did not want to be late.

He was half an hour late that morning.

He smiled as he recalled the memory of that morning, first the immense pride he felt, holding the collection of paper in his hand. Then the extreme gratitude when he realized he was the first person to do so, besides her.

His fingers nearly trembled as he flipped through the pages and even though he recognized the pattern of the pharagraps, recognized the words, having read most of her work while it was still in progress, he still felt and incredible urge to drop everything and start reading right in the hallway of the apartment. She had to use actual force to convince him not too, distracting him with her body fresh out of the shower.

He spent most of the day reading the manuscript in the end anyway, blowing off several meetings and almost being late from court. And then he spent most of the night making love to her, not having another way to express his gratitude, admiration and awe for her.

The book enchanted him, talked to him, made her more real and understandable than any conversation ever could. Her stories of life and growing up and finding truths and becoming were dancing in his head for hours and days and weeks. There never was a doubt in his mind that her book wasn't anything less than incredible. The fact that he felt his shortcoming when it came to expressing that and conveying his feelings about it to her didn't change that. He knew, even if he wasn't an expert on literature or art, that her voice was unique, that her words were captivating, and he knew that it wasn't just because he adored her and every part of her. It was because she had talent, she had real and actual talent.

He took a deep breath, taking a determined step inside the study, walking up to the desk. He knew were the manuscript was, second drawer from the bottom.

He pulled the drawer out as he sat on the chair in front of the desk and sure enough it was there, sitting in perfect stillness in the dark confinement of the drawer.

He closed it, letting out a long breath, half relieved, half burdened and he stared up, out the window as his thoughts raced in his head.

Anxiety was always a force of drive for him. And even now he was trying to find the way where it was guiding him.

He knew she meant her words. Knew she'd come to terms with rejection. Come to terms with the fact that life didn't always magically work itself out. That sometimes you would have dreams that crumbled, that turned out to be not quite what you expected. She seemed to have had a number of those experiences in the not so distant past. But he wasn't sure that acceptance was the way to go. He wasn't sure that this was her path. Everything always worked for her if she took matters into her own hand and found a way. But what if she didn't have the determination to fight this one? Had she really tried all her options? Or were there things holding her back? What were those reasons? Were they legitimate? Or were they just all a result of not having enough courage?

As the plan materialized in his head, his heartbeat sped up. He was certain that it was what he had to do, what he was going to do, but he was not sure how it would end.

He got up, walking back to the bedroom through the dark apartment, feeling thankful for the warmth he felt as he stepped inside. Her sleeping form on the bed seemed to call to him and he moved slowly, quietly, climbing in the bed with careful movements as to not to disturb her.

She stirred anyway, unconsciously moving to feel the warmth of his own body and he froze instinctively as her softness met his contours. He felt another wave, the anxiety in his chest gripping harder and he pulled her closer as a reflex, not bothering to be careful enough not to wake her.

She moaned a small moan and stretched in his arms, blinking to awareness as he studied her face.

"Where were you?" she murmured.

"Bathroom" he lied, the sound of her voice slightly quieting the waves inside his chest.

"What time is it?" she groaned and he looked over her should to catch the numbers on her clock.

"2:24" he replied with a sigh.

"Why are you so awake?" she furrowed her brows as her eyes seemingly adjusted to the dark.

"I don't know" he sighed.

"Is this about work?" she asked, her voice suddenly concerned, her whole body instantly more awake as she turned onto her side to face him.

His hand moved to caress her face and he smiled.

"No, everything is fine. Must be a warm front coming" he shrugged.

"What are you, 72?" she chuckled.

"Not quite" he smirked moving over her in one quick motion.

The rest of the anxiety in his chest finally disappeared as his lips moved to her neck and she giggled in response, wriggling under him slightly.

"You wake me up for this, DuGray?" she chuckled.

"You mind?" he retorted, his hand finding its way under her nightgown to caress her sex.

Her eyes closed immediately, her breathing hitching.

"No" she murmured and he smirked.

"I thought so."

xxxxxxxx

"I hate that you have to go so out of the blue" she said, trying to keep her voice composed, but he knew it was hard for her.

He felt a pang of guilt watching her forcing a smile on her face.

"It's just two days" he said quietly, "I'll be back on Wednesday."

"Yeah, I know, I just wish I knew beforehand" she shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant.

"The client requested a consultation, it's urgent" he mumbled taking a deep breath as the lie tasted sour in his mouth.

"Yeah, I understand, just..." she sighed "hurry back, okay?" she smiled.

He nodded.

"And don't have too much fun in LA, okay?" she added.

He cringed slightly, remembering he lied about the destination too, not wanting to raise suspicion.

"I'll be in an office for two days straight Rory, I doubt I'll come back with a tan" he said, speaking so low he wasn't sure she would hear over the traffic noise on the busy sidewalk.

"You about done saying goodbye?" the cab driver called out impatiently and he turned around to shoot him a look, before turning back to pull Rory into his arms.

"Go back inside, I don't want you catching a cold" he said as he felt her cold body clad in only a thin sweater. She had walked him down without grabbing her coat and he felt guilty even for that.

"Alright" she nodded, rising onto her toes to give him a quick kiss before backing away from him and the car.

"Call me when you land?" she asked, a smile spreading on her face.

He pulled her back instinctively before she could get out of reach, his lips finding hers again. He felt her gasp as he kissed her with a sudden intensity, his whole body yearning for the feeling he was worried he might not feel again after what he was planning on doing. He kissed her with a desperate passion, his whole body electric with want as she melted into his hold.

He finally let her go, feeling her shiver lightly, the anxiety instantly stronger in his chest as her body distanced from his.

"Wow" she smiled a silly grin "hurry back."

He got in the cab, his chest feeling heavy.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

"JFK" he replied watching Rory hug herself for warmth on the sidewalk.

The cab moved away and he turned to keep her in his sight, feeling even more guilty as he knew she wouldn't leave her spot despite the cold until the cab got out of her sight.

"That's a nice girl you got there" the cab driver pointed out.

He gave him another warning look in the rear view mirror and the guy seemed to catch his drift, because he dropped the subject.

"Where are you flying to?" he asked as he turned the corner.

Tristan sighed.

"Philadelphia."

"City of brotherly love, huh?" the cabbie countered.

He scoffed at the notion.

"Yeah, we'll see."


	24. All or nothing

He opened the door hearing the old fashioned bell announcing his arrival.

His whole body hummed with anticipation, the anxiety burdening him for days turning into an almost palpable force of drive within his limbs.

He looked around the trendy setting, hoping, with his heart beating in his throat, that this would go fast and smooth.

"Can I help you?" a guy approached him with an odd expression and Tristan realized he looked a bit out of place with his Versace suit.

He had the foresight to discard the tie, back on the plane, but the rest of his costume, designed to not leave Rory with any questions regarding his trip, were apparent and screaming 'not an artist type!'.

"Uhm... yeah... I am looking for Jess Mariano" he replied, talking in a serious tone as he looked around the publishing house.

He noted the pieces of art, the stacks of books, the many desks and he hoped to god that they were all the signs of a successful company. The place was lively, buzzing with energy even this late in the evening and it made him feel old, much like anything artistic did.

"Alright, why don't you wait here, I'll see if he's available" the guy replied, still slightly suspicious.

Tristan watched as he departed toward a door which lead to Jess' office, he assumed. It was an office in a row of several ones on the far back wall of the place, most of which were open. He knew that Jess and a couple of guys started the publishing house a couple of years back and he also knew that they had several small successes with a couple of novels, one of which included Jess' sophomore attempt. They continued to be based in Philadelphia, but they moved to a larger office, and were branching out towards various projects with books, arts and music as well. It was still an indie company, but they had been becoming a force to be reckoned with.

The guy returned within seconds and pointed towards the room that he just exited, letting him know he was free to go in.

He sighed, suddenly feeling the reluctance.

He'd met Jess before.

Back in Star's Hollow at Luke and Lorelai's wedding, and then at the book signing they went to two years ago in New York.

Both of those encounters were... tense to say the least.

He could tell, just by one look in his intensely dark eyes that he had not, nor will he ever get over Rory Gilmore.

He couldn't blame him of course, but that still didn't stop him from hating his guts from the getgo.

Jess, even after becoming fairly successful in most fields of his life, remained a rebel deep within. And that included a complete lack of want to communicate adequately. As if there were an adequate way to communicate with the current lover of the love of your life.

Their brief interactions reflected this and even though Tristan had the sense to know that no sign of male competitiveness was going to be excused by Rory, he couldn't help but feel an itch in his palms on the rare occasions he was forced to coexist with this person.

He would watch as the dark eyes scanned Rory, speaking volumes of love denied again and again, of heartbreak tossed back and forth, of disappointment, regret and other disasters. He watched patiently, restraining himself although every part of his body wanted to revolt. He disliked Jess with an intense passion, not just the way he disliked Dean, or Logan, but truly and deeply, the way you could only dislike your true competition.

He felt several pair of eyes on him and a shiver ran down his spine, realizing most workers of Truncheon were now staring at his apparent reluctance to enter Jess' office.

He took another breath and walked towards the door coming to stand in the doorway.

The office was messy, lined with bookshelves and cabinets, stacks of books, magazines and paper spilling over the desk. The light was scarce and there was a soft hum of music coming from a stereo from the corner. Jess was sitting behind the desk, staring at a computer screen intently, his eyes scanning over lines and lines before he finally looked up to meet his gaze.

When he did, his face spoke of true surprise.

Tristan watched his intensely dark eyes dilate to an ever more profound color, his lips parting slightly in surprise. His long dark hair fell into his eyes and it took him seconds, before his hesitant hand moved to restrain the stray lock.

There was no words of greeting or welcome and he wasn't much surprised at that. He made himself at home, shutting the door behind him as he walked up to his desk, seating himself in the chair from across Jess.

He listened to the silence of the room for a minute, prepping himself for the conversation ahead, not looking up to gauge the other man's reaction.

"What can I help you with... Tristan?" Jess finally spoke, his words careful, untrusting, his name spoken with a hidden displeasure that only a lawyer could have picked up on.

He looked up at Jess, finding the brown eyes studying him curiously and with slight distaste.

He took a deep breath, reaching into his bag and pulling out the manuscript carefully.

He placed it on the desk, on the miraculously clear spot in front of Jess, then leaned back into his chair, not taking his eyes of the novel, as if he were still unsure this was the right choice, the only choice.

"You taking up writing instead of law?" came the brunette's sarcastic question and he glanced up with a poker face.

"Rory wrote this" he said, his words quiet, simple, but somehow still earth shatteringly powerful in this office. He studied Jess' face, hungrily taking in the emotions passing through there.

There was a slight shock at first, his mouth falling agape. Then something flashed in his eyes before they focused on the stack of paper that he placed on the desk. He couldn't identify it exactly.

Was it hurt? Or anger? Or something else entirely?

He didn't realize he was holding his breath as he studied the other man's reaction, up until Jess finally spoke.

"She wrote a novel?" came his question, his voice cracking, raspy and he watched as he swallowed hard.

He tried to identify whether this was the true question weighing on Jess' mind. He wasn't really sure about that.

"Yes" he answered, his body perfectly still.

Jess was motionless, his eyes the only part of him that stirred, while he focused on the manuscript in front of him. Tristan saw hesitation, and great struggle, as the man resisted the apparent urge to take the novel into his hands.

"She quit the Times and wrote this in a couple of months time" he shared, slightly annoyed by watching Jess' internal battle.

Jess was staring at the manuscript as if it held some great secret, some great answers and that thought left Tristan feeling uneasy.

"And you stole it from her?" Jess glanced up as he arched an eyebrow.

Tristan was slightly taken aback by the question, but he had to admit it was a valid one.

"Sort of" he mumbled.

Jess' eyes shot up to his again, his expression judging.

"She gave up on it" he said, and his voice sounded too much like a defence to his own ears.

He took a deep breath trying to think clearly and not just obey urges.

"She's been... rejected by a bunch of publishers" he explained "I doubt they even read it, lest they'd know..."

"She wrote a novel?" Jess' quiet question broke him off and he realized, looking back up at his face that he was still just deciphering the meaning of that sentence, his hands slowly creeping out to finger the edge of the stack of paper in front of him.

"Yes" Tristan whispered in affirmation.

There it was, that look of hurt, or betrayal, or anger again and he wondered for a second why he didn't think of this possibility when he planed on coming here. Of Jess feeling like he was left out of something that was so his field of expertise.

Tristan suddenly felt the cold, uncomfortable position of the winners and he felt ashamed for rubbing it in.

As if he were reading his mind, Jess looked up, a wry smile playing on his lips.

"You two back together?" he asked and the question took Tristan by surprise.

He knew Rory and Jess didn't talk, not at all. It was something he never questioned and took as a given. He could tell by that handful of times that he saw them meet, that they had unresolved issues plaguing their bond, something that couldn't allow them even after all this time to be careless around each other. He always thought that it was Jess' undying admiration, and the uncomfortable affect on Rory explaining this, but he couldn't quite be sure. He never did have the strength to ask her about it. It was reassuring and unnerving at the same time. Rory and Jess, they didn't talk. But perhaps it would have been more reassuring for Tristan if they did. It would have been better if they had no problem talking to each other. It would have meant there was nothing left to feel uneasy about.

So then that meant Jess knew about the breakup from another source. Possibly Luke. The fact that he knew about the breakup, but didn't know about them being back together could have been a result of Jess and Luke's lousy track record at communicating.

Right. Right?

"Yeah" he replied and watched as the dark man's lips curled unevenly.

"Does she know you're here?" came the next, obvious question and he realized the smirk was foreshadowing this question.

Tristan raised a condescending eyebrow, not bothering to answer.

"Right" Jess sighed, leaning ahead, resting his weight on his elbows on the desk. His fingers had retreated from fingering the text and now he was just staring at it again, apparently under a trance.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, his voice suddenly exhausted as he looked up, seemingly shaking off the intense feelings that weighed him in the last minutes.

"I want you to read it and publish it" he replied with conviction and watched Jess scoff.

"I think if she wanted me to read it, she would have brought it herself." he pointed out and Tristan felt unabashed bitterness in his voice.

"You know how insecure she is..." Tristan fought his point "and you know how highly she thinks of you and what you've accomplished."

He cringed slightly speaking the words, hoping he didn't sound like a lawyer to Jess. He sounded like a lawyer to himself. Fighting a case he was desperate about.

"Look, I don't know why you're doing this..." Jess' impatient voice cut through his trail of thought "what you are trying to achieve or amend for..."

"I am not trying to amend for anything" it was his turn to cut him off, his voice shaking slightly from emotion.

"Whatever" Jess dismissed him "The point is, this is not right. If she didn't think of showing it to me herself, chances are she didn't want to. That she wanted to do this on her own. How do you think she is going to react when she finds out you came here? What do you think she's going to..."

"She had a rough year" he stopped him again and the declaration silenced Jess.

His eyes shot up to his and he once again saw the unidentifiable look of hurt echo through the brownness of them.

"She had a rough year and I think she is starting to find herself again. Starting to find what makes her herself again" he pleaded his case and he realized his voice was just that. Pleading.

"I had to watch her this year, throw away everything and anything she had. I had to watch her fall apart and I had to watch her try to build herself up again brick by brick. This novel... this is the first time I felt like I saw her whole again. When she was writing this. It was incredible to see. And I am not going to let that all disappear just because no one bothered to pay attention to her writing."

He finished his monologue, his eyes darting up to study Jess again.

He was gripping the sides of his desk, as if hearing the words were causing him actual physical pain.

"_This_ is incredible" he went on, his hand tapping the manuscript for emphasis, "Help me get her to believe that again."

He stared at Jess' reluctant face, a million emotions flashing through it.

"Just read it. Read it and if you don't beg me to let you publish it, I'll leave and never come back" he said with fierce determination.

Jess sighed, closing his eyes.

Tristan got up from his chair not waiting for Jess to make up his mind.

"I'll come back tomorrow and you can tell me what you think" he said, his voice determined.

He walked toward the door, without turning back to look at him.

"She isn't going to like this. And she's sure as hell going to to be pissed at you" came Jess' voice from behind him.

"Just read it, Jess" he said before opening the door and shutting it behind himself, without turning back.

xxxxxxxx

The afternoon was sunny, but chilly. The sun shone bright, the reflection off the fresh snow augmenting the strength of the rays into a splitting daze, so intense that he had to squeeze his eyes even after sitting there for hours. He felt the duality, the extreme coldness of the air around him, but the rays of the sun bathing his face and his whole body in warmness. He felt comfortable, without having moved an inch in the past couple of hours, and he realized he forgot to register the constant hum of the anxiety inside him as well, the sun seemingly having a calming effect on anything it touched.

The bench he was sitting on stood on the edge of the park facing Truncheon and he thought it was appropriate to wait there. When he went in this morning, an assistant told him that they hadn't seen Jess come into work yet. He refused to wait in the office, the whole atmosphere of the place giving him an uneasy feeling and he opted to find somewhere outside, keeping the front of Truncheon in sight in case Jess showed up.

"How long have you been sitting on that fucking bench?" he heard the familiar hostility of Jess' voice and he forced his eyes open, the pressure in his chest steering awake.

He was surprised that he had missed him, but then again, he might have kept his eyes shut for longer than he'd thought.

"10 AM" he replied calmly.

"Are you insane?" the dark haired man murmured as he shoved his hands in his pockets. His word came out in little puffs of condensation, visible in the coldness of the air.

"I figured once you start reading, you would finish in one sitting and then I'd see at once when you show up" Tristan shrugged, feeling a long forgotten hint of rivalry in his words "You must be a slow reader" he added, giving into the urge.

"I read it three times" Jess offered as an explanation and Tristan only now noticed that his expression seemed tired, his hair a mess, and his clothes familiar from last night. He must have been in his office unable to put the manuscript down, which is why the assistant didn't see him come in. He was already there. Still there, to be more precise.

He felt a pang of jealousy, of protective possessiveness that threatened to burst through his chest in the form of a warning growl, but he took a deep breath instead, telling himself that it was after all, what he expected and hoped for.

He stared at Jess, seemingly still in disarray.

There was a moment of silence before the man moved to sit next to him on the park bench.

"Rory wrote this" came Jess' voice. It was more a statement, than a question. Quiet, contemplative, a true sign of his amazement and wonder.

"Yeah", he answered, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He stared at the fresh snow in front of his feet, unable to melt despite the warming beams of light.

"She's..." came Jess' attempt to voice his feelings.

"Yeah, I know" he cut him off, the thought of Jess' praising her making him feel nauseous.

"It's..." Jess tried again, once again failing to find words to express himself.

"Yeah" he smiled, irony apparent in his voice.

"What the hell are we going to do?" Jess asked, his voice exasperated.

"You're going to come with me to New York and tell her that" he replied, as if there were no other options to consider at all.

"I don't think that's such a good idea" Jess scoffed.

"Why?" he asked, not agreeing.

"Because... she is going to be pissed... she didn't tell me about this for a reason..." Jess struggled, and Tristan could make out a trace of hurt in his voice.

"She hasn't shown it to anyone" Tristan offered, and he felt the inadequacy of his attempt to be comforting to Jess.

"Except for you" came the obvious reply, and Jess' disappointment rang unabashed.

Tristan listened in silence, not wanting to insult him further by trying to explain her actions. He wasn't sorry that he was the only person in her life. He wasn't sorry that he was the only one that managed to stick by her even if she was hurtful and cruel. He deserved this. He sure as hell fought through thick and thin to be here.

He couldn't tell what Jess' story was. Whether their current lack of communication was a result of their initial beak up, or the time he knew Jess called her out on, when she quit Yale. And he also recalled some vague memory of Rory confessing to use Jess when things with Logan weren't going so well, but he had refused to even listen to the story with full alertness, so he couldn't quite use it now to piece the puzzles together. Truth was he didn't want to. If it had been up to him, he would have forgotten Jess Mariano even existed. But he wasn't quite so lucky.

He took another breath, his mind being puled back to the present, as the brooding man still sat quietly beside him.

"I'm in there" Jess finally spoke and his voice was small, amazed again.

"I know" he replied, his jaw flexing despite his will.

"I am the voice of reason" Jess mused.

"You are an alcoholic who freezes to death on a New York street" Tristan replied, unable to withhold the venom in his voice.

"I'm still in there" he chuckled.

Tristan took another breath, trying to calm himself back into his role. He was here with a purpose, after all.

"Yeah, well, I'm sure you are" he said and sensed Jess turn to him, his face questioning.

"What?" he asked.

"The voice of reason in her life..." he said, feeling actual pain at having to vocalize the thought "So then act like it." he added.

"You don't know how this is going to turn out. You are willing to risk loosing her over this" Jess said, standing up suddenly, to walk a few steps in frustration.

"I am not going to lose her again" Tristan replied, happy to hear the conviction in his own voice.

"How do you know?" Jess turned back to face him.

"Look, Jess" he stood up, taking a step to face the shorter guy "You do realize how hard this is for me, right? You do realize I'd rather be anywhere else on the fucking planet right now, than here, but I believe in this, I believe in her, and I saw her finding a way that I think is good for her. Now I could fucking support her her whole life, while she writes, even if no one ever reads what she writes except for me. Trust me, if I knew that would make her happy, I wouldn't mind. But I know it isn't. She needs to feel appreciated, she needs to feel like she has accomplished something, and fuck, if that means going to every single bookstore and convincing them to put her on their shelves, then that's what I'll do. I'll do anything to see her the way she was when she was writing this" he finished his monologue, realizing his voice was shaking with all the emotions that were swirling inside his chest.

"You're in love with her" Jess said, his words slow, amazed with the revelation.

Tristan looked away with annoyance, seeing the shocked expression.

"You aren't selfish, like the last one. Or idiotic like the one before. Or fucking crazy like the one before" Jess went on, his musings making Tristan even more annoyed.

"Yeah, well I'm not Logan and I'm not Dean and I am not you" he shot back, cutting him off.

There was a tense silence between them and he once again looked away, this time feeling ashamed, more than annoyed.

"And she loves you" came Jess' voice.

Tristan sighed, closing his eyes for a moment.

"I am hoping" he said quietly.

"She is going to be pissed" Jess said, his voice warning.

"Yeah" he agreed.

"She is going to be so fucking..." Jess went on, his voice worried.

"I know" he replied, stressing the words.

There was a beat of silence, the two of them looking at each other in the blinding winter sunshine.

"When do we leave?" Jess asked with a slight frown.

"We can be on a plane in an hour" he replied without missing a beat.

xxxxxxxxx

He let himself into the apartment hearing the sounds that made the place into a home. That made it worth coming home to.

The hall was a mess, with Rory's boots leaving a little puddle of melted snow around them and her umbrella left opened to dry.

He maneuvered around it, putting his own briefcase on the ground and shaking off his coat.

He stepped inside, hearing the noise of laughter and applause coming from the TV set. He heard the sounds of popcorn popping in the microwave and in a second he could smell it too, the buttery smell filling all of the apartment.

"Rory?" he called out and he heard the TV turn off immediately.

"Tristan?" came her surprised voice and the next moment he saw her bounce towards him with a brilliant smile.

She leaped into his arms, kissing him with force and then pulling away to greet him with an incredible smile.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were only getting back tomorrow" her enthusiastic voice made him smile in return, his arms moving around her to pull her closer.

He leaned in for one more kiss before taking a deep breath to step away slightly. He needed the distance to clear his head.

"I... I finished all I went to do in a day... so I'm back early" he struggled with the words and he tried desperately to recall the speech he had been preparing for the last three hours during his trip back.

"How was L.A.? Did you see anyone famous?" she asked, her face genuinely interested as she turned towards the living room, her hand intertwining with his.

He didn't move, their joint hands stopping her mid movement as well.

She looked back at him with a curious expression, feeling his reluctance.

"Rory. There is something I need to tell you" he said slowly, carefully.

He saw a flash of concern in her eyes, not nearly as much that he thought she would produce had she known what he was about to say.

"I wasn't in L.A." he said and her eyebrows raised in confusion "and it wasn't work" he added.

He saw her body tense, and her brows furrow. He saw a flash of hurt and of jealousy and he suddenly felt guilty, rushing to explain himself, even as he knew the truth might be far worse than infidelity.

"I was in Philadelphia" the words spilled from his mind and he watched her face still confused "I went there to..." his words failed him and he took another deep breath.

"I took your novel with me" he tried another way to approach the subject.

Rory froze, her whole body becoming tense at the words.

"What?" she choked out, her hand letting go of Tristan.

"Rory, I think that you shouldn't give up on it so soon and I think that we have more options..." he heard himself explain.

"I didn't give up" she broke him off, her words guarded, hostile almost.

"We do have options" he explained.

"_I_ have options Tristan, _I_ do! It's my choice to make" she shot back.

"I know and I'm sorry, but hear me out..." he pleaded.

He watched as her face contorted, her breathing becoming fast and shallow.

"God, what did you do?" she whispered, her hands clutching each other as she tried hard not to hyperventilate.

He took a deep breath, turning around to walk back to the door.

He opened it, his eyes meeting Jess'.

He knew there was no way Jess could have heard the conversation transpiring between them but his face looked as though he had.

There was a silent look exchanged between the two, before Tristan turned back, walking inside again with Jess following him.

Tristan's eyes landed back on Rory just as her face changed with reckognition.

"Oh my god" she murmured, a slight flush appearing on her cheeks as her hands moved to hide her face.

"Hey Rory" Jess greeted her and Tristan watched as she took a deep breath, composing herself.

When she let her hands fall, revealing her face to the two men, she once again looked calm, composed.

"Hello Jess" she said, her eyes darting to Tristan, with a look of hurt, disappointment.

"I think you two should talk" Tristan said, turning away before he could realize Rory's scolding expression that he expected at his choice of words. He walked back down the hall, once again avoiding the drying umbrella. His legs revolted against him as he battled the incredible urge to turn back, to take Rory into his arms, to apologize or explain, to make sure she knew she was the only reason, his only reason. Instead he opened the door and stepped out of the apartment leaving behind the two of them, an incredible feeling of insecurity settling in on every part of his tired body.


	25. Galaxies in my hand

She heard the door close behind Tristan and she stood in her spot, the shimmering rage inside her body rocking her outlines into a fine tremble. Her nose registered the burning smell of popcorn as the microwave finished its task with a signaling chime.

She stared at Jess, who was still as a statue at the end of the hallway.

"I can't believe he did this" she murmured, the words not addressed to anyone in particular and she closed her eyes knowing there was no way to not address the man standing in front of her, no way to go back to the easy unweirdness of a movie night that she immersed herself in just until a couple of minutes ago.

"He had good intentions" she heard Jess' voice and she opened her eyes to stare at him in shock.

His words seemed genuine, uncomfortable, but genuine and she wondered for a second, in sheer panic, what these two talked about during the course of the last day.

The panic rose inside her as she stared at Jess, still standing in his coat and shoes.

It had been almost a year since she'd last seen him, ten months to be precise, and the memory of that meeting left a sour taste of regret and guilt in her mouth.

"What did you..." she started to ask, feeling no shame as she registered her panic fully translating into her voice.

"He came to see me with your book" he stopped her question in haste, and she could see a trace of disgust appear and disappear on his face.

"He thought it was a waste, not to publish it and he brought it to me so it would be" he went on.

"He doesn't know?" she asked, her voice sounding pathetically fragile.

"Not from me" he replied, his face calm.

There was a moment of silence and as the intense panic faded into a quiet sting in her body, she felt the rage come back with a vengeance.

"I can't fucking believe this" she huffed as she turned around and walked into the kitchen, stomping up to the microwave and opening the front to find a gush of smoke rise from within.

She sighed and picked at the edge of the bag, tossing it into the trash bin. She walked to the window on the far side of the kitchen opening it with a violent jerk to let some cool air in.

"He is right about the book" she heard his voice and she turned around startled, to see him standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

She stared at him for a second, taking in his appearance.

He had discarded his coat, now dressed in a gray button down shirt and black pants with a black velvet jacket on top. His clothes looked a bit disheveled and she couldn't tell if it was from the plane ride or from his lack of interest in it. He looked thinner, paler than last summer and a wave of worry washed through her. His eyes looked weary, tired and it looked as though he'd missed a couple of nights of sleep in the near past.

"I read it" he went on, breaking her observation "I read it three times... Rory, this is incredible."

She felt her cheeks blush as she leaned her back against the counter, a wave of nausea rising in her at the thought of Jess reading her words, her novel.

"It's..." she started, closing her eyes as she tried to steady her body despite the incredible weirdness of the situation.

"It's incredible" he repeated and she looked up at him with a scolding look.

"Jess" she said his name, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

"No, Rory. This isn't Jess talking. This is a writer, publisher, editor telling you what he thinks. This is business" he cut her off and she took a deep breath, her arms crossing in front of her chest.

He waited for a second before going on.

"I want this book. It has nothing to do with what we had or what happened last year" he shook his head, his speech sounding confident, unwavering.

She felt the blush return to her face, listening to him mention last year, the panic inside once again stirring.

"I want to publish it" he said, with quiet conviction.

"I didn't need your help" she said, her body going rigid with the anger seeping through her parts.

"I am not offering you help" he shook his head.

"I was going to do this on my own" she replied.

"I realize that" he agreed.

"And I wasn't going to take the easy way" she went on.

"I know" he said, closing his eyes with slight frustration.

"And if others didn't want it..." she said, pointing towards nowhere in particular.

"I want it" he said.

"You are Jess!" she huffed in frustration.

"I told you, that's not the reason" he shook his head.

"How can it not be? I am Rory, you are Jess. What were you going to say to him? That you wouldn't publish it?" she shot, incredulous.

"Yes" he replied, perfectly calm.

"If I hadn't liked it, I would have told him that and you would have never found out" he explained with a shrug.

She looked at him, perplexed.

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes momentarily.

"You really think that it's good?" she asked, her voice small, uncertain.

Jess smiled, for the first time during the course of their conversation and she realized how infectious that smile seamed, scarce as it was.

"Yeah" he said, nodding "Although I do wish you could have given me a more stellar end than freezing to death on a street" he chuckled.

She groaned, burying her face in her hands.

"It's not you!" she protested.

"Sure" he chuckled again.

She let her hands drop, staring at him again, the mood palpably less tense and she sighed, thankful to be able to look at him without remorse for the first time in the evening.

His eyes scanned over her body, but she didn't feel self conscious or shy, the brownness of his eyes caressing her like an old friend.

He moved suddenly, and she realized he was holding the manuscript in his hand.

He walked up to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair and sitting in it, as he placed the stack of paper on the top.

She watched as his fingers skimmed over the front page, delicately, lovingly, her heart racing as she realized the paper looked worn, as if it had been read and rearead over and over again.

"Has she read it?" he asked, looking up at her from under his lashes.

She looked at him baffled.

"Mom?" she asked.

A slight nod was his only answer.

She shrugged as she stepped closer to a chair on the opposite side of the table.

"No, I haven't shown it to her yet" she said.

"Hmm" he mused, a small smile playing on his lips.

"I don't know if she'll..." she sighed, suddenly self conscious.

"She'll love it" he said, with a certainty that made her thankful.

His eyes fell back onto the front page and she narrowed her eyes as she studied his figure.

There was a moment of silence and a small smile spread on her face.

"You want me to change things" she wondered out loud.

He chuckled.

"I just think there's some progress to be made still" he raised his hands in defense.

She hummed in acceptance.

"Let's take the scene when she talks to the alcoholic" Jess said, his voice gentle, careful, opening the manuscript to a page that seemed worn.

"It's not you" she said, rolling her eyes.

"Okay..." he chuckled, his mouth twisting into a lopsided smirk.

"It's when things get shifted into perspective for her" he said, his words reflecting a sort of fascination, that made her feel warm inside.

"A different perspective" she corrected him.

"Right. One that allows her to accept some of the things she's done" Jess replied, his voice sounding energetic and enthusiastic.

She blushed again, feeling that enthusiasm radiate off of him.

"I thought that was hard to write. Because part of me thinks that it's still not justifiable, you know?" she murmured unsurely.

"So you think that it's justifiable for him to beg, steal and hurt...?" he chuckled.

"He's doing it in order to stay alive" she cut him off "But what's her excuse?"

He considered her question for a second, looking down onto the piece of paper again "Okay... let's take this part..." he said, his eyes scanning the script in front of him.

He started reading, his voice strong, but quiet, reassuring.

_  
"Everybody has a story to justify them. All their wrong deeds, all their crimes. I've got a thousand, look at me. I could pick one, I could make you feel sorry for me, bring tears to your eyes, make you want to feel ashamed for taking the things you have for granted" he says, slightly slurring the words even though I know the shot I bought him could not have yet inebriated him._

_"So why don't you?" I ask, my words sounding indifferent._

_"What would be the point of that? To justify my mistakes? To even the score? To explain, why I let the ones who ever dared to love me to rot in disappointment? Do you think it would lessen the guilt?" he ponders, looking at me with those strangely vacant eyes that seem to refill with life as his emotions rise. I wonder for a second if there really are people out there suffering because they've invested love in this person, love gone to waste._

_"What does then?" I ask, to stir him on._

_"Nothing does" he smiles, as if sharing a secret. For a second he seems human and I scold myself for having doubts about people having loved him._

_"But some things make it bearable..." he goes own, his eyes sparkling again " have to find your own reasons. Your own causes. Your own search" he says, taking another shot of his drink._

_For some reasons the words reach me, just as his drink reaches his insides, because I feel the sting of them, like he must feel the sting of the alcohol._

_"I feel like I have none" I hear my voice and it's foreign, small, broken "I feel like I have never been hurt. I feel like my mistakes are justified by other people's hurt."_

_"You've lost your mother. Isn't that hurt enough?" he smirks looking at me and my heart seems to stop suddenly. It takes me a minute to remember he knows my past._

_"I didn't know my mother" I murmur._

_"Not through your own eyes, no. But does that lessen the loss?" he asks, almost as if he were musing._

_"Does that justify all I've done to other people?" I ask, my voice sour._

_"You're so hard on yourself" he chuckles, finishing off his drink._

He finished reading the passage, and Rory realized she had been holding her breath the whole time, his voice speaking her words casting a spell on her.

"Why doesn't he convince her?" Jess suddenly asked, looking up at her and she gasped, startled.

"Maybe it's not time for her to be convinced yet" she shrugged, confused.

"She realizes the truth behind his words later" he agreed.

"Yeah, but I think she has to realize it for herself" Rory said, suddenly self conscious.

"You see, for me, it's obvious. For the reader it's obvious" he said with a wide smile, his voice once again energetic as his eyes darted across the kitchen.

"For her it's not yet" she pointed out, her words more quiet.

"Why?" he asked, looking at her suddenly.

"I guess she is too immersed to see clearly yet" she shrugged again, shifting her weight uncomfortably in her chair.

"She has all these second hand memories of her mother and she doesn't feel them her own, so she still can't relate to her mother. When she finally sees that those pieces of information make up a person, a person she's lost before she could even understand the importance of, she realizes that it justifies everything in her life. Her search, her failures, her lack of a drive" Jess said, his eyes shining with a kind of devotion that sent shivers to her spine.

"I think you should reflect on this conversation then" he said, getting even more excited, as he stressed the word.

"At the end?" Rory asked, slightly confused.

"Yeah, it gives meaning to this conversation, if she realizes it's meaning then" he said.

"You don't think that's obvious and cheesy?" she scoffed, with a small smile on her face.

"It doesn't have to be Rory" he laughed in return.

"You don't have to refer to it word by word. God, what do you think I meant, a fucking flashback? Have a little respect, youngling" he nudged her gently and she couldn't help but laugh, realizing the weirdness of the situation.

"Then how?" she asked, her voice curious.

"I don't know" he shrugged "Capture the atmosphere. Recycle the mood, reflect on the thoughts. You can do it without mentioning the alcoholic."

She sighed, realizing he had a point. A valid one.

It left her feeling stirred.

She finished the book, wrote the last page and since then, hadn't thought to change anything. To her, it seemed like she wrote all she could.

His words now, his views, made her see things in a different light. She wanted to explore his suggestions, but wanted to leave it be at the same time.

"You just want your grand exit at the end" she murmured, annoyed.

"Hah, I knew it was me" he chuckled.

She looked at him, seeing that careless easiness in his demeanor, that sparkle in his eyes and she felt incredibly light, understood. As though all these thoughts and words bottled up inside her finally found an outlet, found a way out.

She studied his face for a second, his lines becoming quickly familiar again. He noted the dark circles, the emerging creases.

"What?" he asked with a smirk and she glanced away self consciously, shaking her head.

"You look good" she murmured, hoping he wouldn't catch her lie.

He smirked, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"I doubt it" he replied with another chuckle "but it's good to see you too, Rory."

She sighed annoyed, hating that he could still read her after all this time.

"_You_ look good" he said, with a flash of hurt in his eyes "much better than last year" he added, looking down once again as his voice died to a murmur.

"Jess, I never..." she started to apologize, the guilt once again taking over the lead in the clash of emotions inside her.

"It's fine, Rory" he stopped her.

"No it's not. I was horrible... again... and you should hate me..." she struggled.

"I could never hate you, Rory" he cut her off again.

She stared at him perplexed.

"I'm sure you had your reasons" he said, his brows furrowed and his voice thick with emotions "and I should take responsibility for whatever I let happen..."

"Jess" she called his name again trying to get his attention "I was in a really horrible place and I didn't know what I wanted and..." she tried to explain herself.

"And I was there and willing" he finished for her.

She let out the breath that was stuck inside her lungs as she stared at his face. It showed bitterness, but no trace of anger.

"I have no right to go and hurt people, I realize that and I have been working hard to amend for things... I just didn't quite get to you yet" she said, her voice shaking as self loathing managed to rise from its grave deep within her.

"You have" he stopped her and she looked up, baffled.

His face was calm, serene.

"I told you: I read the book. You made amends" he said.

She felt an intense wave of emotion just then, the incredible connection that she felt tying her to this man, no matter what, no matter how. She knew that after all this time, after all the hurt and pain they managed to cause each other, he still could understand like no one else, see her through her words like no one else. She shivered, watching as he sat across from her in the kitchen, a small smile playing on his lips.

"I am going back to Philadelphia" he said, his voice being back to business as he rose from his seat.

"I want you to come down for a meeting and we can sign the contract, pick an editor for you" he said turning around to walk back out the kitchen and towards the hallway.

She rose from the chair, partly baffled, then followed him, without saying a word.

"Why can't you be the editor?" she asked, and she scolded herself for sounding so small, so lost.

He froze in his track, his whole body tensing as he registered the question.

He turned around slowly, the darkness of the hallway casting calm shadows on his face. He suddenly looked older, more weary than he really was.

"I don't think that would be a good idea, Rory" he said, his voice extremely quiet, careful.

She nodded, swallowing back the taste of guilt in her mouth.

They stared at each other in the silent hallway and she wondered if things really did work like that, making amends. Maybe some things were never able to be fixed, never able to be forgiven, never able to fade. Maybe some things are left behind, like painful reminders of how easily things could go wrong, of how permanent and fragile every ripple could be in a human life.

"The third chapter also needs work and I am not crazy about the title" he said, his voice breaking the silence as if it were a truce, a treaty.

"What?" she asked chuckling, playing along with the scene they both knew was only a distraction.

"_The Unexpected, _it just sounds off" he explained as he took his coat form the wall, shrugging it on.

"I am not changing anything" she said with a chuckle.

"We'll see" he replied with a smile, turning to look at her.

They stared at each other, the moment of silence enveloping them again.

"You don't have to go. It's really late" she said, her voice soft.

He looked around with a wry smile.

"I'd rather not stay, if you don't mind" he replied.

She nodded, realizing the insanity of the prospect.

"Don't be too hard on him, okay?" he said and her heart froze in her chest, hearing Jess refer to him.

She nodded, not able to look him in the eye.

"He really loves you" he said, choking out the words that seemed to leave a foul taste in his mouth, judging by the sour expression he wore.

He looked at her, as if expecting an answer.

"I know" she mouthed the words, not having enough strength to say them out loud.

He nodded, turning around to walk out of the apartment.

She stood frozen to her spot as she remained alone in the hallway.

xxxxxxxxxxx

She stared at the empty coffee shop, Tristan sitting by their regular table, his fingers tapping nervously on the table.

This is the first place she came to, guessing he would be at the office and seeing him through the glass window of the coffee shop on the ground floor of the building.

She was halfway relieved to see him there, hating to walk the deserted floors of the office building this late in the evening.

She shook her hands slightly, reminding herself that relief wasn't the emotion she was aiming for at this point.

She had to be angry, she had to be scolding, she had to be infuriated.

It was hard to channel all that, when the only emotion she felt was guilt.

She felt the awful insecurity of having just dodged a bullet, of having the panic subside and knowing there was no right way to solve the situation.

There were things plaguing her, there were things that she had been making amends for during the last couple of months, but there was a line to draw. She couldn't apologize for the rest of her life and she had accepted that. So had he. He wanted no more apologies and he made that clear, so she had to see it that way: she was guilt free, from the minute they got back together. No bringing up old stuff, no explaining anymore. This was the only way it would work.

Her mind was aware of this, accepted this, was all for this. Her heart however ached steadily in her chest.

Her heart wished that he had known everything, every last stinging detail, every aspect of her horrid nature, of her selfish self. Her heart wished he knew everything and still wanted her, despite all her faults and mistakes and acts of betrayal. She wished every part of her that she hated, felt ashamed of, would have been burned at the point that they had managed to start over from, so there would be no ghosts to haunt her anymore.

It was a futile wish.

She sighed, opening the door to the coffee shop. The place was deserted and she walked freely to his table, pulling out the chair to sit across from him.

Her heart sank at seeing the miserable expression on his face, guilt running unabashed across it.

He didn't look up, his fingers tearing a pack of sugar to small, irreparable shreds.

She leaned back in her chair, studying him.

"Can I get you anything?" she heard the waiter ask and she shook her head, not having the strength to talk.

The waiter walked away, leaving the two in silence.

"I'm not sorry" he slowly said and his words were careful, quiet.

She registered them, and the quiet determination behind them, the anger in her stirring considerately.

She didn't reply.

"You have every right to be mad, but I'm not sorry" he repeated himself.

"What if I didn't want him to publish it?" she asked, her voice trembling, despite her control.

"I know you didn't" he said, looking up with an expression that made the statement seem obvious.

"Rory, you sent that manuscript out to every publishing house in the continental United States, you think it didn't register with me that you left Truncheon out?" he asked, a wry smile on his lips.

The panic stirred inside her, her mind at once calculating what that question meant, what he knew.

"I knew you didn't want to show it to him because of some reason I guess you think is obvious" he said.

The panic inside her settled a bit.

"I didn't want his pity" she said, and she shuddered at the true honesty of that sentence.

"He isn't the type of guy to act on pity, Rory, even I know that" he replied and she let her gaze fall, knowing he was right.

"You don't find it odd that he was the only person that managed to like this book?" she asked him, her voice once again thick with anger.

"He was the only person that knew what he could expect from you, the only person to give the book a chance" he corrected her.

She leaned back again, hating the fact he argued with such conviction, such reasonable logic.

"You should have asked me" she said, realizing that her sentence only reflected hurt, rather than logic.

"You would have said no" he pointed out.

"You would have argued it" she shot back.

"I didn't want to" he said exhausted.

"So you stole the book and flew cross country to convince my ex-boyfriend to publish it? Because it was the easier way?" she asked, her voice shooting up.

He swallowed, his brows furrowing slightly.

"Yes, I suppose" he replied.

"Why are you doing this? What good will this do?" she asked, leaning forward to bury her face in her hands.

"I'm hoping it will show you that this is a viable way" she heard him say, as she felt his fingers on her hands, pulling them away from her face.

She sighed closing her eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted.

"Rory" he called her name and she opened her eyes to look at him as he pulled her hands into his.

"Please don't fight this. You wanted this, and you were so sure about this, so let it work itself out. You don't have to control everything" he pleaded slowly.

"I was fine, Tristan, I was okay with it. I don't have to have some deranged conviction that I am a great writer if I'm not" she groaned.

"It's not a deranged conviction, Rory" he shook his head "Just give yourself a chance to see that."

She sighed knowing there wasn't any reason to argue.

"I'm sorry if I've made you mad" Tristan spoke quietly.

She sighed annoyed.

"You aren't."

"I'm not sorry I did it, but I am sorry it made you mad" he repeated his words.

"There isn't a difference" she said, but there was no fight left in her voice as there was no anger left inside of her either.

It was hard to be mad and feel guilty and lost and insecure at the same time. She felt so undecided, so incapable of trying to find an adequate way to react that she gave up altogether, letting her body sink into the seat and her mind give up trying to reason. She suddenly thought the best choice was just to let the emotions even themselves out, the little waves quenching each other to form one totted vector.

When she opened her eyes again, it was with calmness, and the vector pointed in one direction. Towards him.

She climbed out of the chair, walking around to him, ignoring his astonished look as she climbed into his lap. She let her head rest against his chest and she felt him sigh, in relief, his arms going around her torso to rock her gently.

"I love you" he whispered "please know that."

"I know" she smiled into his hold.

"I just want you to be happy" he struggled and she hushed him.

"I know, shhh."

She felt him relax with another long exhale, his arms holding her tight as he rocked her on. She felt safe, at peace, but her mind was reeling still.

The totted sum, was a totted sum.

But the little parts make up the incalculable complexity of life.


	26. Ground beneath her feet

He tied his laces silently as he sat on the bed, the dusk outside creeping into the unlit bedroom. He rose slowly, his limbs already aching for the rush, aching for the mindless extortion that running around the Reservoir would bring him.

He had ran in the morning already, but somehow, the tension seemed to return to him by now and he sure as hell wasn't going to stay in the apartment listening to the metalically distorted voice of Jess as he went over another revision of the chapter that Rory and he had been discussing over the computer.

He wasn't jealous, he told himself as he squeezed his hands into fists, staring at his own reflection in the mirror.

His face looked tired, even though it was Sunday, his hair was a mess, and his old track pants hung to his frame, holes and all, making him look like an average exercise crazed New Yorker. His eyes were burning though, and as he met his own gaze in the mirror, he felt pathetic.

No, of course he wasn't jealous.

Why would he be?

Just because his girlfriend was in the next room cyber-discussing a chapter with her ex. A chapter probably inspired by her ex. For the past two hours.

Absolutely no need for jealousy.

Let's just call it a very intense need to run about 7 miles.

He released a long breath, walking out of the room, deliberately making his steps as quiet as possible.

He walked by the open door of the study, hearing snippets of their conversation and froze as he heard her say his name.

He sighed.

"Almost" he gritted out the word into the silent foyer, composing himself as he turned around to stand in the doorway of her study.

She was looking at him, twisting around in her chair, away from her computer.

He glanced at it, secretly calculating where to stand to not be in the range of the web camera. He frowned as he figured there was nowhere to hide.

"You going running?" she asked, a sweet, surprised smile playing on her lips.

Feelings of being pathetic returned with a vengeance as he lost himself in her smile, in the ray of her eyes. That smile seemed to scold him for ever feeling like he... had to run 7 miles just because she was talking to some other boy.

"Yeah" he murmured, leaning against the door frame as he watched her.

He noticed a flash of guilt in her eyes as she rose from her chair.

"I'm sorry, I've been holed up here all afternoon" she apologized, stepping up to face him.

He watched her with a smile, thankful that she blocked the laptop from his view.

"Don't worry about it. I'm glad you are getting some work done" he replied.

He knew it'd been hard for her. Revisiting the chapters she'd finished, rewriting the story that she thought was done. But he guessed it was the way the editing process worked. And he loved the fact that he saw her regain her dedication, her drive. She would immerse herself in her work, and she was back to being Rory again, his Rory.

Her trip down to Philadelphia a couple of weeks ago had finally convinced her that Truncheon would be a good idea for her. Jess wasn't there to meet her, making Tristan wonder if that was significant, a statement from the brooding rebel. She had been surprised, but hadn't lingered much on the problem as she was quickly swept up in the process of signing the contract and meeting her editor, Emma. The young, eccentric appointed editor was clearly as enthusiastic about Rory's book as Jess, and Tristan came home many a night to find Rory talking to her over the computer, immersed in some detail of the book.

Those were the good days.

Then there were days, albeit far and few, when he would hear Jess' voice from the study and he figured that Jess' absence during her trip to Philadelphia was more a statement to Tristan than to Rory.

'I ain't causing trouble'

He frowned again, but was pulled back from his musings as he felt Rory's hand glide over his cheek.

"Hey" she nudged him, moving closer.

"You okay?" she asked as his arms snaked around her.

"Yeah" he smiled "I just need to clear my head, running will be good" he shrugged.

"Okay" she nodded "don't stay all night though."

He agreed with a smirk, pulling her close to kiss her slowly. His hands pulled her closer and he felt her tremble slightly as he deepened the kiss unconsciously.

He pulled away, steadying her on her feet as he leaned back against the door frame.

She blushed slightly and he was reminded of the computer behind her. He somehow felt content, proud even, like a man claiming his stake and he hoped, with an unabashed urge, that the little web camera recorded every flutter, every last detail.

He scolded himself, thankful for Rory's inability to read minds. He pushed himself off the door frame and waved a silent farewell as he turned to walk towards the front door of the apartment.

The elevator was empty and silent, flawlessly riding towards the ground, and as he descended, the feelings of unease returned to his body, slowly, but surely.

Sure he could kiss her wordless in front of a web camera, but he was still fleeing his own apartment, immersing himself in mindless physical activities.

He felt stupid and pathetic again, and he waited impatiently for the doors to open, itching to get moving.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

His body pulsed. The good kind of pulse. The kind that includes your whole body, your every cell, molding them into a united, unbreakable front. When you feel invincible and hard as steel, the cold only scraping at the surface of your skin. When the air from your lungs leaves in protected little guffs of heat and humidity, hiding you in an invisible shield of moving air. When you seem to not feel the tension of your feet hitting the ground, your body morphing to sooth the vibrations, making it feel like you were flying. When you already feel distanced from the fatigue, from the ache. When you feel numb, your bloodstream filled with endorphins or whatever those molecules were that made even the shittiest situation feel bearable.

His eyes were focused on the path before him, his sight clear and precise, every color and every movement recorded.

Even through the falling dusk, he could make out each and every detail.

It was that time of year, that insanely intense time of year, when winter finally gave way, when the first attacks of spring finally broke through in little bouts.

He could smell it. He could smell it the moment he stepped outside. It smelt like the promise of warmth, like the promise of light exploding and of colors spreading. It invigorated him and awoke his body to even more energy.

Spring was coming.

He could already make out the fibers of the dark green grass, breaking through the lifeless ground that had been frozen through a long winter, even as the trees of the park still stood stripped bare and dark. There was something breathtaking in life finally breaking through, finally rising from nothing, again.

He knew a couple of things about that.

He closed his eyes momentarily, reveling in what it was like to live in spring, what it was like to feel the warm winds and see everything turn to green, turn to life.

The intensity shook him from his quiet trance. Spring was what he felt like inside too. Erratic and windy and full of unexpected battles.

He groaned.

7 miles aren't quite enough to clear your mind of Rory Gilmore.

In fact he started to realize that she was just as permanently a part of him as his blood rushing through his veins, as his muscle fibers working in unison to produce the rhythmic movement of his feet, as the thoughts clouding his brain despite his wish to clear his head completely.

He had accepted this fact. Long ago. That there was no living without her, no way to go on. That he was to be with her, even if he never managed to believe in soul mates or star crossed lovers. It wasn't quite so simple as fate. It was something more difficult. Something requiring his body, his mind and soul to work hard and to sacrifice, but something unconditional and irrevocable nevertheless.

He realized that he had made a mistake before. A mistake of assuming that everything was simple for Rory. That being pure and innocent and successful was as second nature as the blue of her eyes and the fairness of her skin. It wasn't. Rory was simply not perfect, like he believed.

That Rory had disappeared when she broke his heart. But he also learned that no person deserved the presumptions that had burdened her. That no person could survive the expectations unchanged and constant.

Giving her space to make her mistakes, to find herself was difficult. More difficult than he had expected. But he was determined that that was the only way to have her rediscover her innocence, her untainted enthusiasm.

And if it meant that he would have to stand by as she discussed character development with a guy that was obviously as madly in love with Rory as Tristan himself, then be it.

He growled as he intensified his efforts, racing by the couple of joggers that trailed ahead of him.

Jess still irritated him. He hated the fact that Jess had what he didn't. What he could never have. Words. Words to live and die by. Words to sooth.

It made him sick to his stomach, that Jess shared something with Rory that he would forever feel foreign to.

It's not that he didn't recognize Rory's talent. It's not that he wasn't swept away by her words and her stories. It's just that he couldn't quite reflect the way he thought she would like him to. Couldn't quite explain just what those words did to him.

Jess was able to take on all those roles. That he himself wasn't. Be a mentor, a critic, an appraiser.

And it was non other that Tristan handing him these opportunities.

His running sped up even more as the steady rage unleashed the hidden energies inside him.

Tristan wasn't the one for self doubt. Or for inferiority complex. But he was aware of his own abilities. And of the ones he lacked. He wished the lack wouldn't build the rage. But it did.  
Even if he knew perfection was not required, he wished he could run for days to burn the rage away.

xxxxxxxxx

He walked through the door, knowing his movements were still too energetic, too wild and uncontrolled, knowing he had to slow down, calm himself to a humanly pace, force his body back into the calmness he obeyed to whenever he wasn't lost in the mindless physical extortion. His ears were still tuned to the intensity of his body moving, of the city outside and he had to still himself to recognize the silence of the home he returned to. The sounds here were at a lower scale and he had to control his own noises to be able to accommodate. He tried to still his breathing, the sound of his rushing pulse waves in his ear intensifying as a result, as he listened, trying to decipher the silence of the apartment. He moved through the living room, realizing the foyer was dark, and Rory's study abandoned, the light not on anymore. In fact, the whole apartment seemed to be dark, lifeless. Maybe she ran out for something.

He was thankful and relieved, suddenly happy to be alone, of not needing to force his body so intensely back into pretense. He relaxed, letting the air pass freely from his lungs, letting his muscles revel in the burn still strong in his body.

He moved through the silents rooms, not bothering to turn on lights, his eyes still strangely focused and akin.

He stripped the soaked sweats and headed for the bathroom, closing the door behind him as he flicked on the switch.

He squinted as the flood of light bathed the large bathroom.

He glanced at the reflection of himself, and he noted the changes from only a couple of hours before. He no longer looked weary or tired, although his eyes still shone feverishly and his hair was still a mess. His body was covered in a sheen of sweat and his skin burned with a soft hue of red.

He climbed into the large shower, turning on the water to no particular temperature. His body tensed only for a second as the water hit his face, and the rest of his overheated body.  
He relaxed, slowly beginning the transition into himself. That's what it felt like, every time he returned from his run, as though the man he escaped from slowly reclaimed his own body, with unwavering precision. He observed the change, as his body slowly calmed into the controlled tool that it was, his muscles morphing back into the restrained dormant parts.

His ear filled with the noises of the water hitting his own body and he closed his eyes, letting the droplets cascade down his face as he stood still as a statue.

His senses numbed slowly, as the world around him disappeared, and he felt weightless, his heart rate slowing and his whole body relaxing in a gentle hum.

He gasped as he felt the cold hands snake around his waist.

He spun around, his heartbeat speeding up and his breathing uneven as his eyes locked onto hers.

"Hey" she smiled sheepishly, stepping closer, her arms once again reaching out to touch him.

He looked around confused.

"Boy, you're really out of it when you come back from a run" she giggled and he stared at her perplexed as her body molded into his hold, her hand reaching out behind him, to turn the water warmer.

"Too cold" she murmured as she concentrated on the task.

He realized she was shivering and he pulled her closer into his embrace, trying to warm her. Her skin felt so much colder against his overheated exterior.

She smiled and looked up at him.

"Did you have a nice run?" she asked.

He realized he hadn't said anything up untill now, his shock rendering him speechless as he adjusted to the fact that she had sneaked in to the shower after him.

"Yeah" he replied, his voice sounding throaty.

"Good" she said, her gaze dropping to his chest as her hand moved up to trace absentminded patterns on his skin.

Her touch made him shiver and he felt himself react to her nakedness.

She chuckled barely noticeable and he leaned down, itching to taste her mouth.

He still felt the metallic sting of adrenaline in his mouth as he moved to kiss her, his tongue sliding into her mouth. Her tongue felt cold too, and soft and sweet and he groaned, feeling his erection straining against her stomach.

She moaned a small moan and he felt his own body spring back to life, back to burning.

The transition reversed and he felt more energized, more intense than minutes before, as he was still running towards the apartment. The silent vibrating of his pulse intensified beneath his skin and his body returned to the solid hum of energy that possessed him until minutes ago, when he started to coax it back to calmness.

He leaned back to study her face again and he saw her eyes flutter open to reveal her hazed blue depths.

She let out a shaky breath, her eyes traveling down his body and her fingers tracing the muscles of his chest again.

He watched, a slow smile spreading on his lips, as she obviously admired his features, his chiseled muscles.

"You look so hot" she murmured and he groaned in return.

He moved her back against the wall of the shower, lifting her effortlessly against it. His hands went under her backside, supporting her weight as his muscles tensed. She gasped, the blue of her eyes turning a deeper shade and she wrapped her legs around his waist instinctively.

"I want you" she whispered and he had to groan again, the incredible need inside him threatening to cloud his brain.

He wanted to thrust into her with all his might, all his force, wanted to let her know just what she did to him, but he willed himself motionless, his whole body raging against his own control.

He stared at her, his lips inches away from hers and she arched against his hold, straining for him to reach her.

"Please" she whimpered and he felt his knees buck momentarily.

"God, Mary" he sighed, moving closer to her, gently sliding inside her.

Her eyes fluttered shut as her body welcomed him into herself.

"Jesus" she hissed silently and he could practically feel her throb around himself, her warm wetness enveloping him as he slowly slid further.

He filled her up completely, her tightness around him making his mind ache with raw urge.

He wanted to pull back and slam forward again, to pound into her until she begged for release.

But he stilled himself, forcing his eyes open as he watched her face, overcome with raw emotions.

Her eyes squeezed together as he pulled out of her slowly, to slide back into her again, her mouth parting to release a small moan.

It made his skin shiver and he braced her against the cold tiles of the wall, to be able to start a steady rhythm.

He stilled his raged breathing, focusing every ounce of his control on her reactions.

She moaned his name again and he released a flustered breath as he felt her legs squeeze around his waist more tightly.

His one hand reached against the wall above her shoulder, while his other supported her ass, lifting her slightly without any effort, to hold her in perfect line for his thrusts.

The new angle made her moans louder, her face contorting into the most exquisite mix of pleasure and pain and he felt his self control snap, his whole body breaking into a furious need.  
Suddenly every conscious thought was gone, with every need to control or hold back, to banish his rage or feelings of inadequacy or jealousy. He was as uncontrolled and raw as ever, claiming every inch of her body for himself, his groans of pleasure filling the shower over the sound of the water falling against them.

He could feel her pants growing more urgent, her small hand grasping his back as she pleaded with him for him to go faster, harder and he felt his uninhibited cries breaking from his chest in return as he worshiped her every movement, her very being.

She clenched around him, her body going rigid in his arms, her face overcome with pure pleasure as she came undone.

He pushed into her, finding his own release as his whole body trembled with the intense burst of energy.

He braced himself against the wall, gathering all his energy to slowly ease both their weights down to the floor. She clung to him as he sat onto the floor, her legs still wrapped securely around his waist.

He panted hard, his arms going around her back to feel the warm pulsing smoothness of her skin, caressing her as the water fell over them.

"Wow" she whispered into his ear and he smirked slowly, slowing his breathing with deep intakes of air.

She pulled away slowly, studying his face with quiet wonder.

"That was... raw" she smiled and he squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry...you took me by surprise" he replied, noticing his still hoarse voice.

"It wasn't a complaint" she arched an eyebrow and he snickered.

"Good" he said, nodding his head.

She exhaled slowly, seemingly in no rush to remove herself from straddling him. She studied his face, her own becoming more serious, the playful smile disappearing.

"Did I ever thank you?" she asked and he could tell by her face they weren't on light banter anymore.

His mouth dried up, despite the rising mist around them.

"Thank me for what?" he asked, but the words were barely audible.

He dropped her gaze, her fingers once again tracing the lines of his chest.

"For believing in me" she said quietly "for making me do this" she went on "For letting me do this."

His breathing stilled for a moment as her words echoed in the shower.

She looked up at him a moment later, her eyes deep and searching.

"I don't think I did" she said and he shook his head just barely.

"Well, thank you" she said, her voice once again serious, her eyes determined and he inhaled sharply, his chest stinging with her words as his fingers tingled with the feel of her skin beneath them. She lent forward, her soft lips brushing against his and he closed his eyes trying to feel everything at once and forever.

There was no rage. No need to run. And for a moment, he did believe in perfection.


	27. Wild horses

He tossed his keys onto the desk by the entrance and sighed, relived to be home.

He heard footsteps, loud, clicking ones and that sound caught his attention, his eyebrows raising as he turned to watch the approaching origin.

She emerged in her knee high leather boots, the diabolically constructed heels hitting the wooden floor of the apartment with a proud and sensual resonance.

"Oh-oh" he groaned "what do you want, Gilmore?" he asked, feeling an uncomfortable churning in his stomach as his eyes traveled over her body clad in the short gray mini dress.

"What makes you think I want something?" she asked, her voice sugary sweet, as she reached him, her hands going up around his neck as she pulled him into a greeting kiss.

He groaned as her lips touched his, her tongue dancing into his mouth as he showed no resistance.

She pulled away slightly and he exhaled a long breath.

"The boots" he pointed to her feet accusingly "You want something" he went on, his voice ironic.

"Now" she exclaimed with mock hurt, pulling out of his arms and taking a couple of steps backward in order for him to see her as she spun around slowly "I can't dress up for my man for no apparent reason?" she said, her voice low, seductive as she pulled her dress up ever so lightly, drawing his attention back to her legs. He licked his lips unconsciously, his mind already fogged over.

"What do you want, Mary?" he asked with a smile.

She smiled in return, and he couldn't help but think that it was the most naughty Rory could ever look.

"I want..." she said, lowering her voice and slowly approaching, her hands reaching out and coming to rest against his chest "to relax you..." her hands slowly slid down his chest as she lowered herself onto her knees in front of him "because you are too stressed."

His mouth dropped slightly as she quickly undid his belt buckle, freeing him of his pants.

"Rory" he groaned "what are you doing?"

"I thought it was pretty obvious" she snickered as his pants fell to the ground and her hands slowly pulled his underwear down.

He cursed, his eyes going up towards the ceiling, his mind racing to grasp the situation, but all conscious thought was gone as he felt her soft lips around his quickly growing erection.

"Fucking heavens" he swore again, his hands unconsciously going to the back of her head.

He felt himself sway slightly, the room spinning as the rush of adrenaline made him lightheaded, and he spread his legs carefully to gain better leverage.

She sucked on him with determination, her soft lips closing in around his hardening length as her hands pulled him closer to her.

He groaned as he felt her small hands squeeze his back, effectively pushing him deeper into her mouth.

It felt like heaven and he gave up trying to figure out her ulterior motives as his head fell back and another guttural moan broke from his chest.

"You like that?" he heard her whisper as she pulled back momentarily, her hand replacing the grip on him instead of her mouth.

He shivered at the sound of her voice.

"God, yeah" he breathed.

Her hand started a steady rhythm of stroking him and he opened his eyes to look down at her, seeing her looking up at him as her tongue darted out to lick his tip.

"Fuck" he exclaimed, his eyes squeezing shut again.

"Talk to me" he heard her whisper as she took him back into her mouth.

She drew him in even deeper and he felt himself slide down to the back of her throat, the constriction around him making him absolutely mad.

He felt her release him again, the ministrations stopping momentarily.

"Talk to me" she repeated and he opened his eyes to look down at her again, seeing her waiting motionless.

He sighed in frustration.

"Rory..." he pleaded "you know I can't fucking concentrate when you do that" he said.

She arched an eyebrow, barely noticeable and he sighed again.

"You're killing me."

"Funny, I thought I was blowing you" came her reply and he snickered, hearing her so outspoken.

He wondered again what had brought this on, but as his eyes drifted down to her, kneeling in front of him, he once again discarded those thoughts.

"You don't know how fucking hot you look right now" he whispered and she smiled at once, her mouth going around him once again.

He loved the fact that his voice, his words turned her on so much. He felt her suck on him again, with full force and his mind once again threatened to go blank.

"Your mouth feels like heaven on me" he grunted and felt her moan in return. Her soft vibration sent a new kind of shock to his cock and he hissed.

"You are so fucking soft and warm and tight around me" he went on, his hands tangling into her long chestnut hair.

"When you take me deep" he grunted, feeling her take him deep "god yeah, like that...it feels like I am going to explode any fucking second."

He felt her speed up, her moans showing her excitement.

"Fuck Mary, do you like that?" he whispered, his hands forcing her bobbing head deeper down on him.

"Do you like me cumming into your sweet little mouth?" he asked, his voice dropping to a feverish whisper.

She groaned at his words and the vibrations nearly pushed him over the edge.

"Of course you do..." he moaned.

"You like to swallow me whole, don't you? You like me to fill your mouth with my hot cum?" he groaned, his hand fisting into her hair as he pulled her off of him suddenly.

She looked up surprised, her hair in a wild disarray and her eyes a surprised sea of lust.

"But I'd rather fill something else with it instead" he panted as he ripped off his jacket, pushing her back onto the floor.

He pushed her skirt up, grinding his erection into her hips and watched her eyes roll back.

"Feel that?" he whispered, watching her get lost in the sensations. He could feel his body slowly slipping out of his control, her smell and feel making him go crazy with want. His hands grabbed her panties, pulling them off of her as she lifted her hip to help him with his task.

He moved down her body, pulling the black satin panties off over her boots.

"The boots stay" he groaned and raised an eyebrow when he heard her chuckle in response.

He moved up her body again, positioning himself between her legs.

"What's so funny Miss Gilmore?" he asked with a mischievous smile, thrusting into her with full force.

"Oh God" she breathed out as her eyes closed again, her hands automatically wrapping around him for support.

He reached back down, pulling her boot clad legs around his waist and she obliged, squeezing tight around him, pulling him deeper into her.

"God, Mary, you feel so good" he moaned into her ear "tight and dripping wet."

She moaned in return and it excited him even more.

Rory Gilmore was a fucking vixen in bed. He wondered if all those fucking socialites had any idea. He wondered if that stupid town had any idea. He wondered if anyone had any idea that her sweet innocent mouth could form sentences like he'd heard her say.

"Tristan, I want it harder" she moaned.

Fuck no, no one knew she could say stuff like that.

He stilled himself, enjoying the agony crossing over her features, even as his own throbbing need clouded his brain.

"Why?" he smirked.

Her eyes snapped open, her blue orbs reflecting shock and frustration.

"Talk to me" he repeated her request, barely able to hold back the smile spreading onto his face.

Her eyes narrowed.

"Tristan" she whined, squirming beneath him against his strong, firm hold.

"Talk to me" he repeated, his voice a notch deeper, all signs of teasing gone.

Her eyes met his again as he tried to hold back his ragged breathing.

She leaned close to his face, her lips almost touching his ear as she spoke.

"Because I love it when you bury your cock in me" she whispered and he groaned instantly, thrusting into her with full force.

She moaned in response.

"Because I love it when you fuck me hard and deep" she went on.

"Oh sweet Jesus" he groaned, his thrusts becoming stronger, faster.

No. No one could possibly imagine Rory Gilmore saying these things.

He lifted himself, supporting his weight on his outstretched arms as one hand guided her left leg higher onto his shoulder. He heard her pant harder as his thrusts reached even deeper into her with the new angle.

"Like that, Mary?" he panted.

"Oh God" she moaned, her words barely coherent.

He felt her clench around him and her whole body started to shake in light tremors, before all her muscles went rigid and a loud cry broke from her chest. She convulsed beneath him and he thrust into her with his last inch of strength before his own body started convulsing with his release.

He cried out her name, collapsing on top of her, panting hard as his heart raced faster than he could follow.

He rolled to his back pulling her with him, carefully untangling her boot clad leg from his neck.

"You okay?" he asked, checking to see if she hurt herself with the position.

She chuckled, her face in a serene state of bliss.

She nodded and he laughed, kissing her sweaty forehead.

"Please call me home early every day" he chuckled.

"You'd like that?" she smiled, scooting closer to him.

"Yeah, you were right, this was definitely important enough for me to leave early" he breathed as his body slowly came down from his high.

"Actually..." she started and his eyes snapped open.

He sneaked a peak at her.

She turned onto her stomach, her fingers playing with his shirt.

"Oh-oh... so there _was_ something you wanted" he said accusingly.

"Uhm" she hummed, feigning innocence.

"I knew it, I knew it, the fucking boots weren't on for no reason" he scolded himself.

"It's still cold out, I need the boots" she reasoned.

"Right, it was only because of weather purposes, not in the least to seduce me" he arched an eyebrow.

"Besides, it's raining in Connecticut, there are puddles" she shrugged.

He held his breath and watched as she sneaked a peak at him sheepishly.

"No" he said getting up from the floor, pulling his pants up in the process.

"Tristan, come on" she laughed as she got up as well, straightening her skirt.

"I knew it! Those boots should be thrown out, they get me every fucking time" he murmured.

She laughed wholeheartedly now.

"Well, not every time" she smiled.

He sighed, watching her flushed face as she walked up to him, her body sliding against his chest.

He groaned, closing his eyes.

"Rory" he sighed " you wanted me home early to go to Stars Hollow?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

She cast her eyes down, even as she smirked.

"And you thought giving me head was going to make me say yes?" he continued his scolding.

"No" she shrugged, her eyes darting every which way "I just thought it might maybe get you in a better mood, when the question would have been stated" she explained.

"Really?" he asked.

"Well, does it?" she retorted smiling.

He groaned.

"What are we doing there now anyways? Is there some dumb ass town festival this weekend?" he murmured.

She smiled.

"No" she said, her voice becoming serious "I want to show her the book."

His frustration disappeared at once as he recognized the insecurity in her eyes, the forced smile on her face giving her away.

She was nervous.

He knew that she had been procrastinating this for a while now, no doubt worried about what her mother would think of the book. Lorelai seemed to sense her internal struggle and kept her inquiry about the novel to a minimum and Tristan didn't mention showing the finished product to her family either, knowing she would do it in her own time.

Apparently it was time.

She had finished the final draft with Emma a couple of weeks ago and already looked at publishing schemes. They didn't have the final product yet, but he knew that it would be getting to print in a couple of weeks time. So far all she had is a preliminary print, but it was printed and it was final and she was ready.

His hands went up the side of her arms in a reassuring gesture.

"Okay" he whispered, not needing any more convincing.

She smiled a thankful smile as she turned to go towards their bedroom.

"But change first, your mom will know what you did to convince me when she sees you like that."

"I got the spare clothes laid out on the bed already" she replied coyly, not missing a beat.

"Connecticut puddles, my ass" he murmured smiling as he watched her disappear into the foyer.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He followed her up through the lawn avoiding the discarded toys and the puddles that did in fact litter the yard. The front door swung open and he stopped in his tracks.

"Kirk got himself a Kubota tractor and ran over Babette's new cat while mowing the lawn" Lorelai shouted with apparent glee.

"Oh poor cat" Rory pouted as she climbed up onto the porch.

Tristan sighed and followed.

"Oh don't worry, it was a genetically mutant cat with three legs, Babette adopted it through some cat-help service" Lorelai shrugged "probably didn't have a long life expectancy."

"Oh" Rory's face became even more worried as she followed her mother into the house.

Tristan groaned as he closed the door behind them.

"Apparently it's a program to give sick cats a chance to experience a warm an loving home before they die because of their internal organ dysfunctions" Lorelai went on with the explanation.

"This is really disturbing, mom" Rory pointed out.

"Tell me about it, I've had to listen to this story 47 times in the last two days" Luke came in groaning.

"Well, I feel like I've heard this story 47 times too... no wait... it was just 46 similarly stupid stories" Tristan grumbled and Rory shot him a look.

He sighed, not missing Luke's half smile of camaraderie.

"She is so mad that she's got Maurie hunting after him with a baseball bat" Lorelai snickered.

"Oh come on, the cat would have died anyway" Rory said, her mouth still in a frown "Kirk probably did him a favor."

"That's not how Babette sees it, she is supposed to get graded on the care she gives to the adopted cat by the cat-help service" Lorelai continued.

"Poor Babbette" Rory furrowed her brows.

"Nah" Lorelai shrugged "Taylor wouldn't have let her adopt another one anyway. He thinks it's scaring the tourists away."

"I think it's Taylor's idiocy scaring the tourists away" Luke grumbled.

"I thought it was the collective idiocy" Tristan joined in.

"Hey" Lorelai and Rory shot at him simultaneously.

He shrugged collapsing onto the sofa.

Rory sat down beside him.

"Hey what's up with grumpy, I thought you were gonna give him the boot-miniskirt combo to get him more motivated" Lorelai sat down across from him.

Tristan turned to Rory with shock evident on his face.

He watched as she winced, then gave her mother a scolding look.

"Mom" she hissed.

"Oh my god" Tristan groaned.

"Do I even wanna know?" Luke said as he joined Lorelai.

"No!" Rory and Tristan shouted in unison.

Lorelai chuckled.

"So how are things in the Big Apple?" Lorelai asked "Did someone finally convince Donald Trump to just go and take it all off?"

"No, apparently he's still got a couple of years worth of combing over to do" Rory retorted.

"Oh wow, good for him" Lorelai nodded.

"How is work, Tristan?" she turned to him but then didn't even wait for an answer "oh my god, that was just like Emily Gilmore, I am officially becoming my mother, I will start wearing reasonable heels and pearl necklaces soon, won't I?"

"Work is good, Lorelai, how is the insane asylum?" Tristan sighed.

Rory punched him in the side.

"Gotta love the boy's sense of humor" Lorelai raised an eyebrow.

"I brought you guys something" Rory blurted out, and Tristan didn't know if she wanted to change the subject or if she just wanted to get over with it.

"Oooh" Lorelai clapped her hands "Is it shiny? Is it sweet? Is it made of cashmere?"

"Yeah, we thought Luke would appreciate an edible cashmere necklace" Tristan murmured.

"It's my book" Rory cut him off and he relaxed, turning to watch her squirm in her seat as the room fell silent.

"Wow...wow... you finished the book?" Lorelai asked, her voice serious for the first time.

"Uhm, yeah. I did actually and I found a publisher... well, a publisher found me" she chuckled glancing at Tristan.

He squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"Truncheon is going to publish it" she said, her eyes cast down.

There was another silence over the room as Luke and Lorelai's eyes darted from Rory to Tristan.

"Jess?" Luke asked faintly.

"Yeah... he read it and thought it would be a good pick for their lineup this year" Rory replied cautiously.

"Wow" Luke said.

"Yeah, wow... I mean... I didn't even know you... finished it" Lorelai said, her voice faltering.

"Yeah... it's only been a couple of weeks really, with the revisions final" she shrugged.

"Wow" Lorelai repeated.

"Yeah, uhm" Rory said, turning to her bag "here it is. Well, this is just a manuscript, but it's the final version and it's going into print, so we should have a copy real soon" she said, and Tristan realized she was rambling, her nerves showing through.

"Wow" came Lorelai's reply.

"I'll leave this one here. In case you want to read it" she shrugged, and Tristan recognized the insecurity returning to every part of her.

There was a moment of stunned silence and then Lorelai reached for the manuscript.

"Can I read it now?" she asked, her voice careful, unsure.

"Yeah, but you don't have to, I mean it's not really short and it's not very..." Rory rambled once again.

"Go ahead Lorelai" Tristan said, giving Rory's hand another squeeze before he felt her relax in defeat.

Lorelai raced out of the room.

"Oh my god, my daughter is going to be a published writer" came her voice as she retreated.

Tristan looked at Rory and smiled reassuringly.

"Wow, so Jess?" Luke asked again, carefully studying Tristan's expression.

"Yeah" Rory smiled nervously.

"WHAT?!" they heard Lorelai's shriek.

"Well, I guess she finished the first line" Rory sighed and Tristan chuckled, turning towards the hallway to see Lorelai race back in.

"Excuse me?!?" she cried.

"Mom, calm down" Rory sighed.

"_My mother died when I was four years old_" Lorelai read, her face astonished "That's the first line of your book???" she asked.

Rory sighed.

"Yeah?" she tried, squinting.

"You kill me in the first sentence?" she shrieked.

"It's obviously not autobiographical" Rory sighed.

"Well let's hope" Lorelai murmured "Maybe it's a metaphor. Are you trying to tell me I wasn't there for you?" she asked becoming crazy.

"Mom" Rory sighed again.

"Lorelai, why don't you go read some more" Tristan said laughing "and me and Rory will take David for a walk, okay?"

"Fine, go, leave" she said in mock hurt "It's obvious how you all feel about me."

"God this was a stupid idea. I could have just not showed her at all. Could have just published under the name Tallulah Fornton" she said.

"Alright, Tallulah, get your ass off the couch, will ya?" Tristan pulled her up laughing.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Tristan walked out of Rory's bedroom, heading towards the kitchen.

He saw the light on and frowned as he walked in, finding Lorelai stare ahead at the cupboards as she sat by the kitchen table.

He stood in the doorway watching her carefully.

"Hey... what are you doing up still?" he asked glancing at his wristwatch. It was almost two a.m.

She didn't move and he realized she had the manuscript in front of her.

He sat down from across her.

"You read it?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

Lorelai's eyes focused on his and he saw the tears shining in them.

"Yeah" he murmured, having a faint idea of how she could feel.

"This..." she started, her voice faltering.

"Yeah" he nodded.

"This is..." she tried again, falling as a tear rolled down her cheek.

"...is an ode to you" he finished for her.

He heard Lorelai cry softly.

"I..." she shook her head, seemingly unable to formulate words "... she has so much sadness in her... I never thought."

Tristan listened to her silently.

"She was always so balanced and happy and I thought I did a good job at giving her everything..."

"You did a good job, Lorelai" he cut her off, his words calm.

She looked up at him frowning.

"Do you honestly think that?"

He sighed, not really knowing what to say.

"I think that maybe you did too good of a job" he said slowly, choosing his words carefully.

Lorelai looked at him questioning.

He sighed again, hating to have to choose the words for something he felt strongly, but couldn't quite voice right.

"You raised her in a bubble..." he started and Lorelai opened her mouth to protest, but he raised a hand, signaling her to let him go on "you raised her in a bubble of love and warmth and protection... But she had to get out of it eventually, to be able to live her life. To be able to find herself. And I think that was a hard transition for her, because she wasn't quite ready for the world being a more difficult place than this house, than this town" he said, gesturing around him.

Lorelai sank back into her chair, listening to his words in defeat.

"It's like when you left Hartford. You were lonely and scared and alone and there was this whole world you were shielded from that you had to face on your own..." he said and he knew she understood, because her eyes dropped to the table, shining with unshed tears.

"It was the same for her in a way" he went on "that was the toughest lesson for her to learn... that she shouldn't take all the warmth and security for granted... because she got it effortlessly for the whole of her childhood, but in the real world, she has to work for it..." he said, trying desperately to not cringe at his own words "like you did".

"I don't know" he shrugged, suddenly not knowing if he was making sense, if any of his words could ever make sense like the thoughts in his head.

"You are right" she murmured.

"Maybe I should have..." she mumbled, her voice broken.

"You did everything right, Lorelai" he cut her off "you made her who she is. You taught her everything. Don't you see?" he asked, his fingers tapping lightly on the manuscript in front of her.

She looked at it, her eyes sad, but proud.

"This" Tristan pointed at Rory's novel "is her talking about what made her who she is... all the things she's learned growing up... In the novel, it's this strenuous process, because she has to do it on her own, and has to find it in memories and memories of others, and through intuition... in real life, she had you to teach her all that."

There was a moment, both of them staring at the manuscript in front of them, the quiet darkness of the house falling around them like a shield.

She looked up into his eyes again.

"God, I've got a great kid, don't I?" she chuckled as more tears rolled down.

"Yeah, she's pretty stellar" he agreed, leaning back in his chair as his chest became lighter.

"I had no idea" she shook her head.

"What?" he chuckled "That she loves you more than anything? That you taught her all she's proud of?" he asked her softly.

There was a sound breaking from Lorelai, something between a sob and a chuckle.

"God, it's so sad" she sniffed "and so beautiful... the way she learns about the mother she never had... it's me... and her... and my mother... and all mothers" she ranted and Tristan smiled as he realized that perhaps he wasn't the only one inadequate to express his awe about Rory's work.

"Yeah" he replied soothingly.

"God" she sniffed, trying to blink back the tears "is she asleep?"

"Yeah" he chuckled "but why don't you go ahead and wake her anyway? I have a hunch she's not going to be pissed" he smiled.

"Thanks, Tristan" she said as she stood up heading towards Rory's room.

"For everything" he heard her add and he knew she was looking back at him without having to turn around.

He nodded.

"You're welcome" he murmured hearing Rory's bedroom door open and close softly.

He sighed, feeling calm as he replayed their conversation in his head. He thought about all the silent fights he'd had with Lorelai, all the anguish he thought she was the source of. He realized that there was never just one person to blame, that things never were quite that simple. Rory taught him that.

He smiled as he walked to the fridge taking out the bottle of water he came out for in the first place, already hearing Lorelai's excited and Rory's drowsy but happy chatter from her tiny room.

xxxxxxxxxxx

He threw the keys onto the desk by the entrance and sighed. Rory brushed passed him carrying her own bag.

"God, does New York get further and further away with every trip?" she groaned.

He chuckled.

"Yeah, it's scientifically proven."

They spent the rest of the weekend in a cabin in the woods, the first signs of spring beautifully unfolding around them. He loved the smell of it, loved the early morning shower storms that wet the trees and fueled the greenness around them. And she loved Rory struggling with the forces of nature. The shoes ended up breaking her feet and he had to carry her back to the cabin this afternoon on his back when she refused to walk anymore. She looked more than relieved to be getting back to the big city as they said goodbye to her mother and her family.  
It was already late in the afternoon as they got back to the city, the last rays of the sun bathing the town in an orange glow.

She groaned as she collapsed onto his leather armchair.

He watched her with a worried expression as she pulled off her shoes with apparent discomfort.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I have blisters" she murmured "this camping crap is... crap."

He chuckled.

"I am surprised your mother likes it so much" he replied.

"That's because she has proper camping gear. And two Danes men clouding her judgment" she groaned as she walked towards their bedroom, limping in the process.

"I have band aids in the bottom drawer in the bedroom" he shouted after her.

"Thanks" she mumbled. He chuckled as he heard her mumbling from the other room.

"Hope they're extra large" she went on "it feels like my feet is one large blister... how is that even possible? I bet they make the shoes especially so the blisters get..."

He lifted his head as he heard her stop talking suddenly. He furrowed his brows trying to determine why she suddenly stopped mid sentence.

Then he realized.

The bottom drawer. Fuck.

He dashed across the living room and down to the bedroom, coming to stop in the doorway, his heart racing in his chest as he tried to steady his breathing.

Rory sat on the floor, the bottom drawer of the chest pulled out as she stared at the opened box in her hand.

He forgot about the stupid ring.

"Rory" he called her name calmly.

"You still have this?" she asked, her voice small as she looked at him, her eyes in turmoil.

He sighed, walking in to drop to the floor across from her. He watched her look back at the ring, her face flushed from the evening chill and her hair slightly curly from the mist outside.  
He felt all his strength gone as he sat, watching her struggle with the emotions.

"I thought you..." she trailed off, her voice shaking.

He gently took the jewelry box from her hand, trying to swallow a frown and not looking at the engagement ring that still made his stomach turn.

"Yeah" he sighed as the box finally closed, making it a bit easier for him to breathe "there was a very distinct possibility that it was going to end up at the bottom of the Hudson..." he chuckled wryly, trying hard to force a smile to his face and failing miserably.

He was suddenly reminded of the pain, reminded of the tension in his chest that he managed to forget.

"Tristan" she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears "I'm sor..."

"Rory, don't" he shook his head, tossing the box back into the drawer "please don't apologize. We are passed this, okay?"

She stared at him, her eyes showing guilt.

He had to look away, it made the nausea return.

"Tristan" she called his name again and her voice was weak.

"I should have taken it back, I don't know why I held onto it" he murmured.

"Because it's my ring" she whispered, tears silently sliding down her cheeks.

His eyes shot up to hers and he felt his jaws set as a shimmer of rage flooded and left his body. He wanted to not be angry. He wanted to not feel any rage. He sighed, deliberately relaxing his body.

"Yeah, well..." he shrugged.

"Do you ever think about asking me again?" she asked, her voice frail, her eyes downcast.

His eyes shot up to her face again, the wave of rage once again passing through him. He had to take a deep breath to calm himself. He furrowed his brows, not knowing what to say.

"Rory" he sighed.

She nodded, as if not wanting any more explanation. Another tear slid down her cheek and she wiped it away, trying to compose herself.

"I don't care about rings, or licenses. You are here and that's enough and..." he sighed again as he saw the hurt on her face.

"I blew it so bad" she mouthed the words, barely audible.

He felt a pang in his chest and he couldn't breathe for a second as he stared at her, then back at the drawer. He closed his eyes, registering every single feeling in his body. The rage, the tension, the guilt, the insecurity.

When he opened his eyes to look at her broken face again, all of those were gone. He took a deep breath.

He reached back into the drawer, taking out the box.

He felt her eyes on him, her intensity soothing the nausea that he felt come on as the velvet box lay in his hands.

He took another deep breath opening it.

The ring sparkled in the last rays of the sun filling the bedroom and he winced, not sure he could let all the connotations go as he stared at the diamond sparkling as though it didn't have all the pain and suffering he had to live through indented in the smooth planes of it's shiny surface.

He took the tiny ring out from its confine, the delicate structure weightless despite all the burden attached to it.

He looked up into her eyes as he saw her tears cascading down her face.

"Rory" he said as she held her breath "I don't care about rings. I only care about you. But if you feel this" he held up the ring "is yours, then it's yours" he said slowly sliding it onto her finger.

Her eyes followed the path of the ring and she gasped softly as it came to rest on her own. There was another sob breaking from her chest and Tristan watched with quiet worry as she stared at her hand.

She looked up finally and he willed himself to not feel panic.

With tears still cascading down her face, she smiled at him, brilliantly and lightly, her eyes lighting up in the process.

"It is mine" she nodded "You are mine" she continued, launching herself into his arm.

He released a breath he didn't know he was holding, squeezing her close to himself, so close he worried he was going to break her.


	28. Bright blue Saturday

The unusual warmth made her remember days that seemed lighter than their actual self. Days that she knew she didn't feel were light and careless back then, but now, in hindsight and after a long winter seemed carefree and happy in a nostalgic way.

The first sunshine of the spring transformed the park, the springing grass and appearing buds on the trees highlighted by the stark yellow glow. And it was full of noise, after the held back murmur of the cold, the warmth melted everything, releasing sound and voice and life.

She sat on a bench, her back still feeling cold as she pulled her light overcoat tighter around herself. It might have been spring but it was still chilly out and she knew that nightfall might even bring fray, destroying the fragile life that had so vicariously broken through the chilled ground.

She watched the swarm of people who appeared in the park, the couples walking, the children running, the happy New Yorkers soaking up the sun from behind the safety of their designer sunglasses. It was so like New York, to appraise the first delicate days of spring, of celebrating any trace of warmth, of renewal, even with the possibility of it being fleeting still.

She remembered the days of their first summer together, when they would meet up at the park every day, taking lunches or afternoon strolls. She remembered his quiet enthusiasm that persuaded her to get her over fears, tough times and an altogether difficult year for her. That was all she seemed to remember from that year, even though she knew it was a trying time with the difficulties of finding a job and facing some career lows. It was still an optimistic time for her, because it was the period that she was initially getting to know him, learning a man that seemed familiar and foreign at the same time.

She remembered sitting on this very bench breaking out in a huge grin as she would see him approach, sleeves rolled up and suit jacket tossed carelessly over his shoulder as he would walk up to her. They would sit and talk for hours, her legs swung over his. He would talk about work and college and his memories of military school, keeping her entertained and astonished at the same time. It was those talks that transformed the mischievous and annoying boy of her memories into the complex and enthralling human being that she fell in love with. Warm days at the park still reminded her of that feeling she used to get, that excitement, that strange twisting of her stomach. She had to smile at the memory.

"What are you smiling about?" he asked smirking as he sat down beside her.

She looked up, seeing him only in his dress shirt as he laid his suit jacket on the bench next to himself.

"It's not that warm yet, Tristan" she murmured, worried for him even as she remembered his unusual tolerance for cold.

"What are you talking about, it's practically summer" he laughed, leaning in to kiss her. As if on cue, a gust of spring wind tussled her hair, making her shiver even as his lips reached hers. Her mind once again returned to those memories of stomach flipping, and suppressed giggles as his tongue moved softly into her mouth.

"What are you smiling about?" he repeated his question, his lips moving against hers as he murmured the words with a smile.

"Nothing" she shook her head, trying to control her smile "just remembering stuff.""Yeah?" he laughed "Like what?"

She shook her head again, happy to be keeping her memories to herself, but she did turn slightly, lifting her legs up to place them into his lap.

As if the simple gesture would have explained more than words could, he smiled lazily and leaned back on the bench, looking out onto the park as his hands moved to caress her legs laying in his lap.

"How was work today?" she asked and he groaned an answer.

"You like your work, remember?" she chuckled.

"Right" he murmured, not quite convinced.

"What about you? What did you do?" he turned to her, his hand going up to tuck a stray lock of her hair behind her ear.

She shrugged lightly. She hadn't actually done anything. She finished the final editing session two weeks ago and was waiting on the final print. She was avoiding talking to Mindy, who was the PR manager for Truncheon and had been trying to organize the book's launch. The whole idea made her skin crawl. She thought Truncheon was a small independent publishing company with no need for such showcases, but apparently their recent success had Jess and his partners agreeing to take some more conventional routes as far as book launching and promotion went.

It was all very foreign to her. She just wanted to see the book in print, wanted to actually hold it in her hand, wanted to smell it, wanted to see it really existed, that she had really done it. She argued with Jess about it, pointing out that she didn't know of the Subsect ever having had a book launching party. He replied by saying he had higher hopes for Rory's book.

"You are frowning" she heard him say, his fingers tracing her lips and she shook her head slightly, clearing her head of the thoughts that were plaguing it.

"Sorry" she murmured.

"What's up?" he asked, his eyebrow slightly raised.

"Nothing, I was just thinking of the launch party..." she shrugged.

"Yeah, when is that?" he asked.

"I don't know, they haven't quite decided it yet. They wanna do it here, in New York and they are looking at venues..." she sighed, the whole subject making her feel uneasy.

"It's a good thing, Rory" Tristan pointed 's ridiculous" she groaned.

"Well, it's free food and drinks, so sign me up" he joked and she smiled along, good-hearted.

"Well, if you put it like that" she smiled.

The light changed suddenly, a strong ray of sunlight hitting their bench, making them squint.

"Wow, it really is spring, huh?" she asked in awe, looking around as the sunlight painted the park around them.

"Yeah" he said, his voice warm, content.

It made her look into his eyes, which were calm, rested, sparkling, confident. Her whole body relaxed gently as she watched him.

"Tell me the story" she said, her voice quiet, playful.

He looked at her, his eyebrows slightly furrowed as he tried to decipher the request. She saw the lines smooth out and his face turn smiling as he understood her.

"The story?" he asked smiling as he looked out onto the park, his eyes focusing on something out in the distance. His fingers intertwined with hers laying in her lap.

"Yeah" she breathed as she waited for him patiently.

"The weather made you think of that?" he asked, not really waiting for an answer.

It was the weather, because it was exactly like this day, in fact it was a couple of days short of four years ago that they had met.

"I finished a meeting and I was about to catch a cab" he started, his words slow, even "when I saw you. You must have been watching me, because you had this half smile and you stood on the curb looking at me."

She smiled, hearing him recite the story that she'd asked for so many times.

"I looked at your eyes and realized that they were the same color as the sky gets at dusk at spring time, and I realized that I'd know this, that I knew this back at Chilton, that I knew so much back at Chilton without realizing it. I wondered what it would have been like to know you more, to have you, to have had you change my life" he said, his words quiet musings that she had to hold her breath to hear.

"And as I walked over to you, I felt this excitement, this hope that maybe you still could" he said.

Rory held her breath, her heart racing as his words registered in her brain. He'd never told her this before. The story always changed, giving her new information, new insight, but this she'd never heard.

"I talked to you and it was on auto-pilot, because my whole brain was obsessing about this instead, about you, your reactions. You smiled. You smiled at my words and there was no trace of fear or of annoyance or anything impure. You were so true and innocent, like back then. You smiled, as though you saw into me, as though you saw all this fucking need in me. And your eyes lit up and I thought, god I want to be able to do that to you. I want your eyes lit up like that."

His speech finished, and he was still gazing out over at something in the park. Rory had to remind herself to breathe, remind her heart to calm down.

He shifted slightly, his gaze falling to her hands in his. Her gaze followed his. The sunshine sparkled on the delicate diamond on her finger.

She looked back up at him, not missing the shadow crossing his features as his fingers gently brushed over the ring on her finger.

She wondered if that would ever stop. If he could ever look at that piece of jewelry and see her love there instead of the rejection that he seemed to associate with it.

"I love you" she said, impulsively, desperately and he smiled, turning to her.

"That story always gets you hot and bothered" he joked.

She shook her head, needing for him to see the desperation with which she was trying to express herself.

"I love you and you saved me. That day. And on a hundred other days since then" she said, her voice faltering as he finally looked at her, his face serious, calm.

"I want to always remember that and I want to prove it to you and the world. I want to wear this ring and I want a fucking white dress and a church and your mother and my grandmother" she ranted.

"I don't want to be uncertain anymore and I am not going to be, ever. I know what I want now" she went on, her fingers gripping his.

"Rory" he said "I don't need you to prove anything..." he replied, but she broke him off.

"But I want to! I want you to be sure. As sure as I am" she said as she breathed deep, trying to will away the stinging in her eyes.

He looked at her, his eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"Okay" he said, leaning in to kiss her.

She felt the heat of the kiss, his suppressed need glowing through his careful movements and she kissed him back with desperate fervor, wishing that she could convince himself he did really and truly see how sure she was, that he was safe, that she meant it. She felt his intensity increase, his hold tightening around her waist as he pulled her closer, groaning softly into their kiss.

He groaned in frustration as he pulled away.

"You're killing me" he murmured and she had to laugh seeing the apparent pain on his face as he tried to get his control back over his body.

"You have to go back?" she asked, feeling him shift beneath her to get more comfortable.

"Yeah" he groaned "I have court."

She watched as he inhaled deeply, concentrating hard.

"You need another minute?" she chuckled, feeling the bulk beneath her butt.

"Shut up" he groaned, making her laugh out loud.

"Tell you what?" she said, feeling slightly smug.

"What?" he raised an eyebrow.

"You go, kick ass at court, and I'll go home and see if I can dig up that black dress from the closet" she shrugged, thinking of the infamous dress she wore on their first date.

He tensed, his eyes widening with lust.

"Rory Gilmore, what are you trying to do to me?" he asked.

She slipped off of him, coming to stand in front of the bench.

"Maybe I could match it with the boots" she wondered out aloud and chuckled as Tristan sat on the bench with a painful expression on his face, obviously not ready to get up and follow her just yet.

"Woman, you will be punished" he groaned.

xxxxxxxxx

She strode into their building, still feeling giddy, with a smile threatening to spread on her face.

"Miss Gilmore, I have a package for you" the voice of the doorman caught her off guard.

"Oh, Bill, thank you" she said as she took the package from his hand, strolling towards the elevator.

She pushed the button, turning her attention to the package in her hand. She read the sender's information and her heart sped up when she saw it was from Truncheon.

She waited impatiently as the elevator finally reached their floor and she dashed down the hallway, opening the door. She walked in, shutting the door behind her.

She leaned against it and looked at the package once more, before tearing away the wrapping.

She gasped as she saw the book, old fashioned, hard back, black letter on the front bearing her name and the title, the picture of a lifeless frog beneath the words.

A piece of paper fluttered to the ground and she bent down to reach for it.

She slipped to the ground as she read the piece of note.

_"Can't for the life of me figure out why you wanted this to be on the cover, but here you go. It looks disturbing. Hope you love it."_

She chuckled as her fingers ran over the cover, her heart beating a mile a minute.

She lifted the book to her face, smelling that wonderful smell as she flipped through the pages. It smelt amazing. Old fashioned and clean and new at the same time.

She opened the front page, turning the pages to the foreword.

_"Rory Gilmore has a voice that could break hearts. She has words to twist your guts and sooth your most rabid turmoil. She knows truths that will make your world tremble and your walls break down and crumble. And this book is an account of how she learned those truths, how she figured out those words and how she found that voice. I stand astonished and will forever be grateful for having the opportunity to bear witness. Jess Mariano"_

She smiled as she released a long breath, her chest aching with a soft tension that flooded the whole of her body. Her head leaned back against the wood of the door and her eyes closed as she smiled wholeheartedly, clutching the book to her chest.

xxxxxxxx

She heard the keys rattle moments before the door creaked open and she smiled a giddy smile, rushing toward the foyer.

He walked in and his eyes fell on her form. She spun around ceremoniously and watched delighted as he froze, his eyes glued to her form.

He exhaled sharply, his eyes turning dark.

"Gives me a boner every fucking time" he murmured and she laughed out loud, sliding her hands down the smooth fabric of the black dress.

"You don't say" she giggled, teasing him as she spun slowly for him.

"Take it off, before I have to rip it" he warned, taking slow, deliberate steps towards her.

She chuckled again.

"You think I'm kidding" he went on with the joke, taking off his suit and tossing it on the armchair as he followed her.

"You rip it and you won't ever see me in it again" she teased.

He stopped, contemplating her words.

"Fine, I'll give you thirty seconds" he motioned towards the bedroom and she giggled, turning around and dashing in.

Her fingers went to the side zipper, slowly undoing it before carefully stepping out of the dress. She laid it on the sofa by the nightstand, turning to glance at herself in the mirror. The black satin lingerie would have to do, she thought to herself before calling out for him.

"The dress is safely discarded" she announced.

She held her breath for his approaching steps, his reaction, but she only heard silence.

"Tristan?" she called out, unsure.

There was no answer, so she peaked out of the bedroom, finding the foyer empty.

She walked towards the living room, seeing him in the middle of the room, the book in his hands as his brows furrowed in concentration.

Her eyes focused on the book in his hands and she figured he was reading the foreword by the expression on his face.

"It came today" she said quietly, unable to hide her smile.

He nodded, not able to tear his eyes away from the page, even though she knew he probably reread the couple of lines several times already.

"Wow" he said, his voice throaty as he closed the book and ran his fingers over the cover "you really did it."

"Yeah, I put the frog on the cover" she tried to joke, even though she knew he wasn't referring to her choice of the cover.

He looked up, still not looking at her, but staring out of the window instead and she swallowed the uneasy feeling in the back of her throat as she watched him struggle.

"It's a nice foreword" he said, his voice quiet "so... right on."

"Yeah, Jess has a way with words" she agreed, walking towards him.

She reached him, taking the book from his hand and dropping it back on the table. Her fingers went to his cheek, turning him towards her.

He finally looked at her, his face blank.

"And you... have a way with me" she said as she slid up against his body.

His arms went around her bare waist and he smirked barely noticeably.

She rose onto her toes and kissed him gently.

He sighed, pulling her into a strong embrace.

"I am so proud of you" he whispered and she felt her breathing hitch as her heartbeat sped up.

"I know" she murmured.

She disentangled herself from her hold, turning to walk toward the bedroom as she pulled him with her. He complied, walking after her wordlessly. The light in the bedroom was dim and she walked to the edge of the bed before turning around to kiss him again.

He sighed softly against her lips, his mouth moving slowly against her eager one. She pushed herself closer to him, arching when his hands once again wound around her waist.  
"I want you" she whispered and she felt him sigh against her neck, kissing his way down.

She pulled away, climbing onto the bed, laying on her back.

She looked up and watched as he stared at her motionless.

She held out her hand, motioning for him to join her.

His hands went to his tie, slowly undoing it, as his eyes skimmed her bare body.

"You're gorgeous" he whispered, the words barely audible despite the quiet of the apartment.

She closed her eyes in anticipation, calling out his name softly.

She heard him sigh again and as she opened her eyes, she saw him slowly discard his shirt. His movements were slow, unrushed and she arched her back, trying to motivate him to work faster.

His eyes focused on hers, the icy blue of them swimming with lust as he slowly pushed his pants down.

She called out his name again, closing her eyes as she groaned frustrated.

Another couple of seconds passed and she felt the bed shift gently as he climbed on.

Her eyes snapped open as she felt his lips on her thighs. She moaned out, enjoying as he kissed his way slowly up to her stomach.

She hissed, her skin sensitive from his slow progress.

"Tristan" she pleaded, her hands entwining into his hair as she tried to coax him into his usual speed and efficiency.

He hushed her, disentangling her hands from his hair with his own. He lifted them slowly to the headboard, his eyes meeting hers for a second.

"I want you" she repeated herself and he stared at her, his face unreadable.

"I'm right here" he said slowly, his eyes falling down to her chest as his hand slowly caressed the skin of her neck and down to her chest.

"Triiis" she scolded and she saw a faint smile on his face.

He leaned down, his lips now touching her chest and she closed her eyes again, arching her back. His hands slipped behind her, gently undoing the clasp of her bra.

She sighed, hoping to get him to speed up, but his hands were eternally slow as he gently moved the satin bra off her chest.

He murmured unintelligibly as he moved to kiss her breast softly, his fingers massaging it gently. He sucked a nipple into his mouth, making her hiss loudly at the exquisite feeling. He moved to her other breast slowly, his tongue darting out to lick the hardening nipple and she moaned, pleading with him to stop teasing.

He moved down to her stomach again, trailing slow kisses on her warm skin and she raised her hips in anticipation. She heard him chuckle quietly as his hands slowly pulled her panties down her legs.

She felt his warm breath on the inside of her thighs and she moaned, spreading her legs to give him room. He moved up towards her center, excruciatingly slow and her hand tensed against the headboard in frustration.

She felt his tongue flick out and touch her flushed skin as he neared his destination and she pleaded with him again to go faster. She jumped as he finally licked her slit, making her cry out from the sudden sensation. She felt his fingers part her gently, as his warm tongue moved deeper inside her, lapping softly at her entrance. She inhaled sharply, willing her hips to stay put as her eager flesh responded to his ministration. She felt his fingers enter her and he moved to suck her clit gently into his mouth. She groaned, feeling the pleasure race through her as he continued licking her. Her hands moved away from the headboard, to his shoulders, tugging on them gently, and he complied, letting her pull him up over her body.

"I need you" she whispered "please."

She opened her eyes, to see him panting, his eyes wide and his hair disheveled. He climbed up, over her, gently lowering his weight to rest on his forearms around her face. She felt his erection push against her and she raised her legs, securing them around his waist.

She arched her hips lightly, pleading with him silently and he watched her for a second, caressing the stray locks away from her face. She felt him finally push into her, eternally slow, and her eyes fluttered shut as the intense sensation took over her body. She moaned his name before forcing her eyes open again. He exhaled a rough breath, steadying his body as he remained still, completely sheathed inside her.

"God, I love what you do to me" she whispered and he moved in response, pulling out of her slowly, before slamming back into her, making her moan out again.

His movements were rough, raw, but gentle at the same time and his eyes focused on her face, before he leaned down to kiss the spot right under her ear. She moaned, the combined sensation making her lose focus, and she arched her back, letting him sink into her as far as he could. She heard him pant her name and it made her shiver, her whole body tensing as he drove into her, his speed slowly increasing.

She felt him shift, and his hands reached beneath her, lifting her hips roughly. She yelped at the sudden change and opened her eyes to see him balance himself on his knees, as he pulled her hips up to be in level with his. Her back lifted, as he held her and after gaining his leverage, he started thrusting into her again. She let out a scream, feeling him go even deeper within her, her walls clenching down around him as a reflex.

He groaned, his strong arms flexing as he held her up to level to his thrusts.

She tried thrusting up against him, joining his movements, but she soon felt all of her body slowly dissolve, her senses threatening to overload as her abdomen started to clench, inducing a strong wave of pleasure that took over her.

She screamed out his name and felt him drive into her even faster, triggering her wild spasms as she came around him, her whole body going rigid with the strong tremors. She breathed his name as she felt him slam into her one last time with a guttural moan, releasing into her as he fell forward onto his outstretched arms.

She panted for long seconds before being able to open her eyes. She saw him hunched over her, chest still heaving and eyes squeezed shut. Her hand reached out to caress his face and he smiled into her hand, kissing it lightly as he pulled out of her, falling down next to her in exhaustion. She turned towards him, continuing to caress his damp face, her whole body gently buzzing from the feelings still reverberating inside.

"Hmmm" she hummed "you definitely have a way with me" she snickered and watched as he opened his eyes to look at her, smiling lightly.

She watched his face as his eyes slowly took in her, no doubt, disheveled appearance, his eyes warm and loving as his fingers once again moved to caress her face.

She closed her eyes, feeling content and calm. She had a fleeting thought about weightlessness before she let herself drift into sleep to the rhythm of his slow caresses.


	29. Notion

"You are late" she heard her mother's voice over the telephone.

She maneuvered on the crowded New York city sidewalk as she clutched the cell phone to her ear.

"I'm two minutes away, mom" she sighed, quickening her steps.

"I journey into the big, bad city, defying the forces..." Lorelai's dramatic speech rang in her ear.

"Mom, it's a two hour drive, you love New York" she broke her off.

"I agree to spend my time shopping" Lorelai went on, undisturbed.

"Oh the dread" she played along, rolling her eyes.

"And you can't show up on time" she continued.

Rory sighed again, looking around as she entered the department store. She scanned the busy interior, squinting lightly to adjust to the fluorescent lighting of the store.

"Where are you anyways?" she asked, not able to spot her mother.

"I've left, gone back to Connecticut, crying my eyes out at the neglect" she heard Lorelai's voice from behind her.

She shut her phone, rolling her eyes again as she turned around.

"Dramatic much?" she asked as Lorelai stepped up to her.

"Only as much as needed" she quipped.

Rory smiled at her, tucking her hands self consciously into her pocket as her mother came to stop in front of her.

"I am picturing a fluffy, pink dress" Lorelai said dreamily, her eyes unfocused and sparkling.

"Okay, definitely for Halloween" she chuckled "as for my book launch party..."

"Oh come on!" Lorelai insisted "It would be so Sex and the City."

"And that would be good, because...?" she murmured.

"Live a little" Lorelai shrugged as she linked her arm into her daughters, leading her toward the back of the store.

"I was thinking something a bit more sophisticated" Rory said.

"Bright green then?" Lorelai replied.

"With purple dots" Rory agreed, without missing a beat.

"Well, purple dots are very in this season" Lorelai nodded.

"Good to know" Rory mused.

"Oh wow, look at that" her mother motioned to the racks of dresses as they arrived at their destination.

"This is going to be so much fun" Lorelai let go of her, venturing into the isle ahead of her.

"Yeah" Rory sighed, her finger absent mindedly running over the hard stone of her ring inside the confine of her pocket.

"What do you think of this one?" Lorelai pulled out a dress, holding it to her body as she spun around to see herself in the mirror close by.

"Is that for you or for me?" Rory raised an eyebrow.

Lorelai giggled in response and Rory just rolled her eyes again.

"Well, I am the mother of the very talented author" Lorelai informed her.

"Ah, I see" she nodded "in that case, that dress is very much called for" she smiled, her hand reaching out to gently run along the smooth silk fabric of the dress.

"Oh my god" Lorelai exclaimed and Rory froze, knowing at once her mother spotted the ring.

Lorelai caught her hand, pulling it close to her face.

"Which African country produced this?" she asked baffled.

Rory sighed, gearing herself for the upcoming conversation.

"Who is this from?" Lorelai asked and Rory couldn't help the chuckle.

"Uhm... is this a tricky question?" she asked, yanking her hand away from Lorelai's prying hands.

Her mother stared at her, her face showing no sign of humour.

"Well who knows with your track record" Lorelai pointed out.

Rory furrowed her brows, slightly annoyed.

"Look who's talking" she said, her tone pointed and Lorelai mock gasped in response.

"So not the point!" she shot at her and they both laughed.

"He... asked you? Again?" Lorelai asked, her voice careful and her eyes worried.

Rory couldn't help the smile forming on her lips as she looked down onto the ring.

"Well... something like that..." she murmured.

Truth was, it wasn't the conventional proposal. It wasn't even a proposal to be exact.

Proposals were romantic and naive and hopeful. This was anything but. They were past romantic and way past naive. And she was sure as hell past hope. She was certain, she was sure. She felt safe and ready and committed. The knowledge slowly spread through her, embedding her every cell with certainty and faith. She didn't need proposals, she didn't need silly gestures and boys bended on one knee. She didn't need promises, but she needed the knowledge that you could redeem yourself. That you could get past insecurities and grief and guilt and uncertainty and learn and grow and move forward.

"And you're... okay?" Lorelai asked, uncertain, pulling Rory back from her thoughts.

She looked up, her eyes blinking a couple of times.

"Yeah" she said, convinced "Of course... I practically forced him to give it back to me" she blushed, running a finger over the delicate piece of jewelry.

"Wow" her mother said, her eyes slightly misty as she stepped closer to her.

She looked up at her mother, searching her face. She saw a sea of emotions, not at all unfamiliar in her eyes. Pride. Joy. Relief. Guilt. Nostalgia.

"I know" she whispered, smiling at her.

"You are really sure" Lorelai said, her voice echoing with pride.

Rory nodded, her smile once again spreading.

"I... I really am. I want this. I want him" she whispered, her voice heavy with emotion.

"I'm so happy for you, kiddo" her mother said, pulling her into a hug.

"Really?" she asked, not completely convinced.

Her mother pulled back to be able to look at her.

"He is a really great guy" she said, her face serious and Rory felt a shiver run down her spine hearing the conviction in her voice "and you are so lucky to have each other."

"Thanks" she mouthed, blinking a couple of times to get her emotions under check.

"Oh my god" Lorelai deadpanned "your grandmother is going to go berserk" she chuckled.

Rory groaned, turning to look at the dresses.

"Please don't mention it to her. I don't want her planing just yet. I can only concentrate on one major even at a time" she sighed, already overwhelmed by the thought of having Emily Gilmore plan a wedding.

"Wow" she heard her mother in amazement and she turned to see her stare at her in wonder.

"You've got everything going for you, kid" Lorelai smiled, looking at her with the quite pride that made Rory blush after all these years. She sighed, feeling uneasy at the declaration, but happy, realizing that her mother, for once was supporting her, supporting all of her in a matter of the heart.

"I don't know" she murmured "I wish we'd be over this launch thing... I don't know why Jess thought this would be a good idea."

"Speaking of" Lorelai's voice turned curious.

"Does he know?" she asked.

Rory shrugged, pretending to be occupied with the label of a long black dress.

"I'm presuming you are referring to Jess" she sighed.

Lorelai just continued to look at her expectantly.

"I... no... I mean not of this time" she mumbled, furrowing her brows as she asked herself how the conversation shifted.

"He knows about last time?" Lorelai asked, confused.

Rory sighed, closing her eyes as she felt itching to drop the subject. Lorelai really was like a bulldog when she latched onto a theme.

"Yeah... I mentioned it... last year." she mumbled.

She heard the heavy silence from the direction of her mother and even without looking at her, she knew that Lorelai was putting two and two together.

"You went to see Jess last year... when you..." she asked, not bothering to finish the question.

"Yeah" Rory replied, not wanting to elaborate.

"Wow" Lorelai deadpanned.

"You never told me about this" she said quietly.

"Yeah, well" she shrugged, moving onto the next row of dresses.

She could sense her mother following her.

"Did anything happen?" she heard the careful question and she felt annoyance as she sighed, wondering how they ever got to this point in the conversation.

She took a deep breath, before turning to her.

"No. It was just good to see a friend who wasn't asking questions" she said and her mother nodded, her face not quite showing belief.

"So you just went there and told him you just left your boyfriend of three years, a day after he proposed and you said yes" she stated calmly.

"Yeah, pretty much" Rory answered uneasily.

"And he said... 'good for you'?" Lorelai probed.

"No, I think the exact words were _You wanna get a beer then?_" she retorted, her words cynical.

Her mother looked at her arching an eyebrow.

"And you just hung out for a couple of days?" she finally asked.

Rory sighed again, feeling bothered by the scrutiny.

"Why is this important?" she asked, annoyed.

"It's not, I'm just curious" she shrugged "I mean, I don't really know what the dynamic is between you two nowadays."

"We are friends" Rory sighed.

"And he won't mind you getting married to Tristan" she asked.

"What do I care if he minds?" Rory shot at her, her voice showing her anger.

Lorelai nodded.

"So you think he might?" Lorelai asked.

"God mom" Rory groaned "I don't know."

"Hmmm" Lorelai hummed.

"What is 'hmmm' supposed to mean?" Rory asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Nothing, it's just I never thought he was ever really over you" Lorelai said, her voice calm despite the weary meaning of her words.

Rory's heart sank as she registered the sentence, her eyes dropping to the chiffon dress hanging in front of her.

"I always just got the sense he was waiting around for you to finally forgive him and give him another chance" Lorelai said.

Rory set her jaw, her breathing becoming ragged as she squinted angrily at the green dress.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"I am having a conversation with you" Lorelai replied, her voice defensive.

"Are you saying he is doing this just to get me back?" she asked, not bothering to hide the anger in her voice.

"No" Lorelai looked up, astonished "No, Rory, I know he's not, this book is amazing."

"But he still has a hidden agenda" Rory said, cynically.

Lorelai sighed.

"Rory, I am just worried for you and Tristan. You two have been through so much" she said, her voice soft, pleading.

"And you think what? That Jess is going to come and try to ruin that?" she asked incredulous.

"No... I don't think he would do that on purpose..." Lorelai said.

"But you are worried that them meeting might do that nevertheless..." Rory said.

"I don't know... I'm just..." Lorelai groaned.

"Worried. Right" Rory finished for her.

The ring of her phone broke their tension filled silence.

She turned around distracted, fishing the small silver phone out of her pocket.

She looked at the screen astonished.

Speak of the devil.

She flipped the phone open, glancing at her mother as she greeted the caller.

"Hey Jess."

Lorelai's carefully controlled face showed no reaction and she turned slowly, giving Rory some space as she occupied herself with the dresses on the rack.

"Hey Ror. How are you?" Jess' voice was distant and she took a couple of steps towards the large windows to get better reception.

"Fine" she said curtly, sighing to try to forget the conversation that she just had with her mother.

"I read a review that's coming out next week... they love this Rory, it's going to go well. Emma is really psyched about the launch, she says the venue is great and the feedback has been excellent. I think it's all going to go well."

"Yeah? You wanna do the dress shopping instead of me?"

He chuckled.

"I'm sure you're going to find a good one, Ror" he murmured, his voice so deep, it resonated through the quiet static of the phone.

"And that you are going to look good" he added, his voice unsure.

She suddenly felt nervous, not quite knowing how to place that uncertainty in his tone.

"Well, you'll get to see" she carefully said, waiting for conformation.

There was a heavy silence on the other end of the line before he spoke and her heartbeat sped up with the growing concern inside her.

"Look, I don't think I'm going to be able to make it" he said, his words fast, determined, as if he'd practiced them.

She felt the rejection regurgitate in her throat and she took a silent breath before gathering all her might to produce a quiet "Oh".

"There is a writer down in Florida that we are really psyched about and he's been approached by several outlets and we thought it would be more convincing to show up there in person, show him our drill, you know" he was rambling now, his words frantic, very uncharacteristic for Jess.

"Right... of course" she mumbled, scrunching her forehead in concentration.

"But I'm gonna try to be back by Friday, and we'll see, okay?" he said, and she could tell he was trying to sound reassuring and less guilty.

"Okay" she replied.

"I'll talk to you later" he said, seemingly itching to get off the phone.

She obliged, resisting the urge to grill him, to demand an explanation, to force him to explain to her, why he, the biggest supporter of her work would abandon her on the night when she would need support the most.

She mumbled a goodbye and shut the phone, staring out the window distracted.

Her mind was reeling, trying to find the explanation behind his actions. Everything has a reasonable explanation.

Was he so annoyed by the whole hoopla? When it was him in the first place who suggested the idea of a launch? Or was he just not comfortable spending so much time with her and Tristan? Like the time he declined to stay at the apartment for the night.

She suddenly felt silly, having expected him to smile and nod and be there for her despite everything. She felt another wave of long suppressed guilt and she sighed, closing her eyes to steady herself.

"Everything okay?" she heard her mother's voice and she turned around, forcing a smile upon her face.

"Yeah" she lied, avoiding her mother's gaze as she stepped back towards the dresses.

"You sure?" Lorelai asked unconvinced.

"Of course. How do you like this one?" she picked up the green dress from before, holding it to herself as she studied the delicate structure of the dress.

"Looks perfect" her mother said quietly, with the understanding that only mothers could show.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

She sat on the bed in the dimly lit bedroom, staring at the the dress hanging on the closet door. She couldn't tell how long she'd been sitting there, but she was sure she could replicate the dress with eyes closed, having studied the folds and straps vigorously for what seemed like an eternity. Her eyes studied the material, but her mind was elsewhere, jumping from thought to thought as she returned to the course of her conversation with Jess again and again.

She pictured the possible scenarios. All of which included the feelings of hurt, resentment, guilt and/or annoyance on Jess' part.

She wondered if she'd expected too much of him, put too much pressure on him, like she always did with everyone she loved and trusted, despite her will. She wondered if she was selfish and self centered and cruel.

Cruel.

That seemed to ring especially fitting in her mind's eye. It described her perfectly.

She shook her head gently, trying to rid herself of self loathing, but the thought was too entertaining, too enticing to discard.

She wondered if that was a pattern. That cruelty. She had a vague memory of Tristan's accusation of her being like her mother, and Lorelai was, for sure, cruel in certain aspects when it came to handling men. She thought about Max and her father and Luke and she thought about herself, seeing her mother's characteristics echo in her own actions with frightening similarity.

She wondered if there was a line of hurt souls that you could trace along America, that she had left behind in her own track. She wondered about Jess, dark and brooding in Philadelphia. She wondered about her mother's words and whether they were true, whether he still thought about her.

If she was honest with herself, she knew he did. He knew he would always and forever think about her, the one that got away, the one he was too young and reckless to appreciate, the one who he always navigated towards, if only with silent written words on pages read by those who could not trace the feelings.

She wondered about Dean, dear, sweet, poor Dean. She felt another rush of guilt that would always remain, no matter how far and distanced she would get, no matter how certainly she would lose track of the boy whose memory would forever be tainted in her mind. And she thought about Logan, blond and forever altered, and perhaps still bitter, somewhere in California.

She gripped the side of the mattress as her eyes once again focused on the dress.

Were these men forever tainted because of her? Was Dean forever carrying a scar that she caused and a scarlet letter that she helped saw on? Was Logan incapable of trust and still hurt, passively forcing his friends into silent comeradry?

She would never know for certain, but she was sure of the pang she felt, when she thought of them.

Jess was different. Despite the guilt, she still hoped, somewhere deep inside of her that she influenced him, that she helped transform him into the man he had become, a man so far from the reckless teenager that she was unable to control back in Stars Hollow. She saw the result of that change, though she could only imagine the immense and silent effort it took for it to occur without support and aide. And he had said himself, that she was part of the reason, even if she was unaware.

"It's a pretty dress" she heard Tristan's voice and she looked up startled, seeing him lean against the doorway as he watched her carefully.

"Hey, I didn't hear you come in" she mumbled, furrowing her brows in confusion.

"Yeah, you seamed pretty lost in thought" he smiled, walking up to the bed and slowly sitting down next to her.

He too looked at the green chiffon dress and they sat silently for a few moments.

She smiled as she too refocused on the dress, thankful for his ability to pick up and adjust to her mood effortlessly.

"Do you think it makes me look self centered?" she cocked her head to the side, amusing herself with the inside joke as Tristan looked at her confused.

"I don't know, why don't you try it on?" he asked, in mock seriousness.

"I'd rather not. I must have tried on a gazillion of them today" she said, falling back onto the bed as she sighed, staring at the ceiling.

She heard him chuckle as he joined her.

"Did Lorelai go a bit crazy?" he asked.

"I think 'a bit crazy' is the understatement of the century when it comes to my mother" she chuckled in response.

He agreed with a quiet murmur and she felt his fingers trace hers.

She closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of his skin. She wondered absent mindedly if that was the reason for him never being cold, the peculiar warmth of his skin. She turned to her side, snuggling closer into his hold.

"Let's get on a plane and run away" she murmured into the side of his neck.

His arm went around her, allowing her to move even closer as his other hand moved to her back, gently caressing her.

"Why do you want to run away?" he asked, his words quiet in the darkness of the room.

"We could go to some deserted island and not care about anyone or anything. We could lay on the beach all day and you could hunt and I could cook..." she ranted.

"You can't cook" he pointed out.

"You can't hunt. We'll learn" she retorted.

"Ah, I see" he replied.

"We could have sex all night long and scream as loud as we want" she went on, trying to be more convincing for him.

"Oh, I'm sorry, were you holding back?" he asked, his tone smug and she rolled her eyes, despite agreeing he had a point.

"We could have kids and teach them how to live off the land and sea and they would never know school or crowded cities or violence" she went on.

"Hmmm. A family of hedonist illiterates. How alluring" he mused.

"You are not getting on board with this, are you?" she asked annoyed.

"I don't know, tell me more about the loud sex" he replied and she chuckled.

There was a moment of silence and she felt him shift, slowly turning to face her.

"Rory" he called her name gently and she opened her eyes with a sigh.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his eyes concerned.

She looked at him, her heart beating in her throat and she suddenly felt like the air was not enough in the room, like she was choking, like she was approaching a fall, or the great tragedy in the roman, when everything slips apart by only the slightest of mistakes.

"I love you" she said, blinking fast to hold back the tears that were threatening.

"And that's wrong?" he chuckled, brushing a lock of stray hair away from her face.

"I just want it to stay like that. I want to stop time and stay like that and not want anything more" she said, her words frantic.

He furrowed his brows as he studied her face.

"You're afraid of wanting more?" he asked, his voice careful.

She looked at him confused, seeing the uncertainty flashing in his eyes and she suddenly felt nervous, realizing how this all must have sounded to him. She had a flashback of their conversation in her childhood room, when her mother locked them in and she thought about the rejected job and her quiting the Times.

"No" she shook her head "No. It's just that I wish things weren't so uncertain and hard to control" she desperately tried to explain.

"Rory" he called her name again and she sighed, a wave of calm washing over her as his voice penetrated her senses.

"That's just life. Okay? The whole uncertainty and the not knowing. That's the fun of it all" he said.

"It doesn't seem like fun right now" she murmured, her voice cracking.

"Baby, look at me" he said, his hands gently cupping her cheeks "What does it matter? What they think? Or what happens? How they react? How things are going to go at that stupid launch?" he asked and she looked at him astonished that he could read her so well, decipher her stupid fears even if he didn't know all the reasons.

"It doesn't. It doesn't matter at all. That party is not a fucking test. It's not a trial. It's you showing the world how proud you are of your words."

His words filled her, slowly and surely, her insides calming as she released a breath she was holding.

"And your life is you showing how proud you are of yourself" he went on, his words simple, conviction ringing in them.

"You make it sound so easy" she breathed and she did think that. Despite knowing nothing ever was, his grace, his certainty made life seem easy.

"Piece of cake" he shrugged.

She chuckled, once again snuggling closer to him. The warmth seemed to be a cure for every ill thought she ever had.

xxxxxxxx

She sipped her coffee as he came inside, securing his tie around his neck.

She sneaked a peak at him, her eyes taking in his form. He was fucking dashing in a suit. She chuckled and he looked up at her, his face curious.

"What?" he asked, smirking as he came closer, stealing her cup from her hands to take a quick sip of coffee.

"Hey!" she protested.

He snickered, placing a quick kiss on her lips to silence her.

"Gotta run, but it will only take a couple of hours. I'll call you in the afternoon and meet you at the place" he said quickly, already pulling away.

She sighed, the anxiety slowly seeping back into her as she felt his body heat leave hers and the thoughts of the launch returned to her brain.

"When is Jess arriving?" he asked her, already walking out of the kitchen.

"He's not coming" she said quietly, forcing her voice to be indifferent.

She turned towards the sink, dumping the rest of her coffee into it with a nervous hand and when she turned back, she found him staring at her with shock evident on his face.

"What?" he asked.

"He is busy, had something to do, some new client or I don't know" she shrugged, pleased with the indifference that rang in her voice.

Tristan stared at her, his jaw slowly clenching.

"It's fine" she said, dismissing the whole question.

He nodded slowly,but his brows furrowed.

She walked up to him, eager to dismiss the tension that settled in on them.

"It's fine" she repeated, feeling panic inside her chest "Like you said, it's nothing, not important. I'm going to go there, smile and drink champagne and answer questions and then we are coming home and we forget about this idiocy, okay?"

He looked at her, swallowing slowly before he nodded, his face not quite as convinced as she wished it would be.

"Okay" he said, kissing her slowly.

"I'll call you when I'm done" he repeated, his voice slightly distracted and she nodded with a forced smile as she watched him turn and walk towards the front door.


	30. Nothing but the thought of you

Some moments are airless vaults, your ears hurting from the sheer pressure of the wait, your chest tightening against the atmosphere that is making it hard to inhale. The feeling is exhilarating, and undeniably intense, involving your whole body and resulting in familiar pulsating angst, a cascade triggered by a multitude of possible reasons, but always flowing the same way.

At that point, it was hard to pick out a single reason. Hard to identify the cause, the trigger, for the resulting burn of the whole of her body.

She had many.

She stared out of the huge window of the gallery. Dusk was gathering outside and her insides seemed to resemble the uneasy sea.

She clutched her phone to her chest and took a deep steadying breath.

Breathing was easy, something to concentrate on to keep from going crazy.

She pushed redial and lifted the silver flip phone to her ear.

She held her breath for longer than what felt comfortable and suddenly let the air rush out from her chest as she closed her eyes listening the line go straight to voicemail again.

She shut the phone with fidgeting fingers.

"Where the hell are you?" she murmured, and her breath fogged the glass in front of her.

The uneasy feeling grew strong again and she shifted uncomfortably in the stiletto heels she was wearing.

"You okay, babe?" her mother's voice startled her and she turned around trying to seem composed.

Lorelai was beautiful and glowing, her form accentuated by the flowing black dress and her eyes burning with quiet pride and her usual energy.

Rory felt her own hands smooth out the green dress over her thighs. It was a nervous gesture and she realized her mother was waiting for an answer, her face growing more concerned.

"Yeah..." she said, willing her smile to seem real, but she lost the fight against the growing angst reverberating in her chest.

"I just can't reach Tristan" she confessed, her voice turning unsure, child like.

She suddenly felt weak and she wished she could run her hands through her hair, messing up the expertly coiffed locks, wished she could rub her eyes and ruin the mascara, the eyeliner, the fucking eyeshadow. She felt like a porcelain doll and she felt an incredible urge to destroy the façade.

"Oh" her mother said, her face even more concerned.

Lorelai's hand reached out, her fingers running up Rory's arms in what should have been a reassuring gesture.

It left her feeling more anxious.

"He had some work to do, but he said he wouldn't be long" she explained, the words rushing out of her mouth in fast succession.

She suddenly felt very aware that she was trying to calm herself.

"Well, I'm sure it's just taking a bit more time than he thought, but he's going to be here" Lorelai reassured her, her hand caressing her lightly.

"I don't know" she murmured, looking at the phone in her hand.

Her feet wobbled as she balanced on her heels, staring ahead for long seconds.

When she glanced back up at her mother, Lorelai was furrowing her brows as if she was trying to figure something out.

"Did something happen?" she asked and Rory was half relieved, half annoyed.

Did something happen? Or was she imagining things? She couldn't tell anymore. But she was sick of the closed confine of her own mind and suddenly talking, telling everything seemed like an incredibly alluring option.

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. She wanted to keep it in, because it felt like if she let the words out, they would be more real, more plausible. As if the words could float out onto the city and change people's minds and the course of things.

She shook her head gently.

Words could also give relief.

She knew that better than anyone.

Her inner argument had been resolved.

"I told him Jess wasn't coming" she blurted out "and he... I don't know..."

"He what?" Lorelai asked, holding her breath.

"Was he relieved?" she asked when Rory didn't answer.

"No" Rory shook her head, once again dropping her eyes down onto her hands.

"I..." she started, hating that she had to do this confession.

Not only because she wished there was nothing to confess, but because she knew she should have told Lorelai this long ago.

"He was confused..." she recalled, her breathing getting ragged "I think he was trying to figure out the reason..."

"Which is...?" Lorelai asked quietly.

"I slept with him, mom" Rory cut her off. Her voice was quiet, matter of fact, the way it always was when she admitted something to Lorelai.

Lorelai nodded, and Rory wondered if the lack of surprise on her face was a result of immense self control or just unspoken knowledge.

"With Jess" Lorelai stated calmly.

"Yes" Rory murmured with a nervous swallow.

"Last year, after you broke up with Tristan" Lorelai went on as if she were checking facts and cross referencing.

"Yes" Rory affirmed, closing her eyes in self hatred.

"And your relationship had been strained since" Lorelai went on with her Sherlock routine.

"Yes. Yes. Yes" Rory groaned "Which is why I hadn't sent him the book or why he'd been staying away."

It _was_ the reason.

Even if she wished it weren't. She knew it was.

She had been shutting out the thoughts and memories concerning her visit to Philadelphia last spring. It had been something she felt guilty about. Because it was something irrational, something childish and something she still had trouble coming to terms with.

She had used Jess before. Unjustly. And it had taken them a long while to get back to mutual respect, to no awkward feelings. She swore she would never be so cruel again, but determination is feeble when your life turns upside down and you have no direction or way to see clearly. She had been weak and she had been desperate and she knew Jess would always carry a torch.

"Hmm" her mother hummed knowingly.

Rory waited for her reaction holding her breath.

"And you didn't tell Tristan what happened?" she asked carefully.

She groaned, her hand rubbing her temples.

As if it were all so simple. Get it off your chest and move on with your life.

Things didn't work that way. Not in the real world anyway. There is no wrong or right, separated by clear lines and colored into strikingly different shades. Could she have come clean? Of course.

Would it all have made it better? Hard to say.

"Rory, it's not good to have secrets, they're just gonna come back to bite you..." Lorelai whispered.

"I tried to tell him" she broke her off "I wanted to, but he stopped me."

Lorelai looked at her, her face surprised.

Rory went on.

"I wanted to tell him that I'd been with someone else, but he didn't want to hear, he said it didn't matter anymore" she said, trying to convince her own self that this was the reason.

"Rory, Jess isn't just someone..." Lorelai sighed.

"I know" she said, groaning "I should have told him, but I was scared of what he would think" she confessed, surprising herself with the honesty.

"Rory, you and Tristan had been through so much... he deserves to know..." Lorelai pleaded and Rory looked up, anger stirring inside her.

"But what if he doesn't want anything to do with me anymore?" she asked, realizing at once her voice was getting hysterical.

"That won't happen, Rory" her mother replied and her face seemed certain.

"I don't know, mom. It's like he has all these insecurities... because Jess... has the words... and knows my past" she whispered, realizing in the back of her mind that her thoughts were rushed, irrational.

"He might know your past, Rory, but he is just a part of it..." Lorelai said.

"I know that... god knows, I know... I knew it even before last year..." she whispered, once again rubbing her temples.

"It's easy to fall back onto someone who you know is going to comfort you" her mother murmured, as if she knew exactly what it felt like.

Rory looked up, realizing she did.

It should have scarred her. Their joint mistakes. Their rash tendencies to act inconsiderately, foolishly. But right now, it just felt like a conviction, for the both of them.

"It's not right though" she said, her voice small.

Her quiet words fluttered in the air around them and Rory thought she saw her mother tense for the briefest of seconds.

"No, it's not" Lorelai replied, her words barely audible as she accepted the verdict.

Rory looked at her mother, once again realizing how burdened she was by Lorelai's traits, her thoughts, her mistakes. She made the same ones, as though it was predestination.

"I was so heartless to Jess, mom. And I lost someone who means so much" she said, her voice breaking as she longed for support and reassurance.

"You didn't lose him Rory, things just need a little more time to fall back into their right place" her mother said, pulling her into a hug.

"I feel so guilty" she said, trying to hold back the tears.

"Rory, you made your amends" Lorelai said, her voice sure.

"No, I didn't" she sniffed.

"He read the book, Rory. That fucking drunk gets more apologies than the rest of us put together!"

"It isn't Jess!" Rory whined, for what felt like the thousandth time.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever" Lorelai chuckled.

She groaned.

Loreali stepped away slightly, her hands holding Rory by the shoulder as she looked at her, wiping the tears that escaped her eyes.

"Are you sad he isn't going to be here?" Lorelai asked suddenly, catching her off guard.

She was surprised by the question, surprised her mother would focus on that. She felt her face twist, like when the pain comes suddenly and the years of adult control can't flood you fast enough to counteract the childish urge to cry. She contemplated the answer, but it was impossible to speak rationally, to reason, to explain. The emotions rushed her, unbanned.

"He was supposed to be here. He was supposed to be proud of me and not resent me. I was supposed to be supported by my friend and not feeling guilty about a guy I screwed over. He is more than that. He deserves more than that. But I screwed that up and he is not coming and Tristan is going to figure out why. He probably already did and that's why he is not picking up his phone two fucking hours before this stupid launch happens" the words spilled from her mouth, her ragged breaths breaking the steady flow.

Lorelai grabbed her arm and shook her lightly, effectively shutting her up.

"Okay, breathe" she said slowly and Rory nodded, trying to even out her breaths. She focused on inhaling and exhaling, her eyes fixed on her mother's.

"He is probably stuck at work and he is going to be here soon. And as for Jess... you can't win at everything, Rory. But he is proud of you and is supportive of you, even if it's too hard for him to come here and watch you" Lorelai spoke slowly, emphasizing every word as it that could make them more convincing, more true.

Rory nodded, trying to internalize the words, trying to gain calamity and peace from them.

"As for Tristan, he is probably stuck and work and we'll be here, like he always is" her mother went on. Rory nodded, realizing she was right.

"You are going to smile and get through tonight, and once all this is over you are going to talk to Tristan and not let this whole thing burden you anymore, okay?" she asked.

Rory looked at her, sighing.

She wished it would all be so simple.

"Okay?" her mother repeated and she nodded, reluctantly.

"Why don't you phone into his office?" Lorelai asked, smiling, her hands rubbing Rory's arm. Her face seemed so bright, so reassuring and Rory wished for the life of her that that outlook would slowly pass onto her, calming her nerves.

"Okay" she whispered, breathless, still trying to compose herself.

"I'll go check on everything" Lorelai whispered, giving her another squeeze, before leaving her alone.

She turned back to her designated spot at the window. She looked up at the sky and noticed the clouds rolling in.

Was it this time last year that she watched clouds so similar roll in over Philadelphia? Was it only last year that she felt so lost and out of touch with herself and life that she went there, in a haze and did what she still felt ashamed off?

It wasn't because she felt like it was cheating on Tristan, although she knew by now that them being apart was never at all final and a result of closure, even back when she deluded herself by thinking it was. It was because she disappointed herself. By being weak, by acting like that. By acting like her mother would in a situation like that. Rash and irrational and inconsiderate.

She loved her mother, she really did, but she never could accept the way she treated her father, or Luke for that matter. She was happy that Lorelai was given a second chance and she hoped that she would never resort to such emotional mistakes again.

Instead she did it on her own self.

She closed her eyes, her throat closing up as the images rushed her mind. She couldn't decide what was more painful. Seeing Jess expose those feelings that he had kept hidden for such a lung time, that he had kept in check and control in order to be a gentleman. Seeing his vulnerability, his need. Or seeing the incredible disappointment on his face when he realized that he was once again used.

She remembered those minutes, when he had stood motionless, seemingly battling an incredible urge to shout at her for being so cruel, to kick her out. Instead, he had resolved wearing his mask, his demeanor cooling into an emotionless observer. He had spent the next two days by her side, never touching, never pushing, in support, because he had realized that was what she needed at that point, for whatever reasons. He had not asked questions, had not demanded explanations, had not told her he deserved better, because there was no point to do all that anymore. He had shown incredible love and support for Rory and when she left, the two didn't speak until Tristan brought him to their apartment because of the book.

She couldn't tell if Jess was over it all, if he'd forgiven her, if he really did thought that her book made amends for mistakes even as grand and reoccurring as hers. But she hoped against hope that it was a new beginning for them. That she had been given another chance, to make amends, just like she had been given a chance with Tristan.

Which is why she had been taken aback by Jess deciding to stay away from the launch. Maybe she'd been wrong. Maybe he wasn't over her, or over blaming her. Maybe he never did forgive her and he only worked through the editing process and the whole release because he was, after all, a good man. But having been given the choice, he chose to stay away and save himself the heartache and the punishment. And maybe she deserved all that. Maybe she deserved everything to fall apart around her, even if it had preciously seemed to all magically work itself out.

She took in a deep breath, trying to will the self loathing back under her control. It was once again tearing at her.

She wished for reassurance. She wished for comfort. And she needed to know Tristan was still all that.

She shifted her weight nervously from one foot to another as she scrolled through her phone's phonebook to find the number.

She dialed and held her breath.

She listened as Tristan's secretary came on the line.

"Yeah, hi, this is Rory... Gilmore... I'm just wondering if Tristan's in?" she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

"Oh, hi, Miss Gilmore, congratulations on the launch... Yeah, Mr. DuGray had a meeting outside of the office with Morrison and Co. this morning and he told me to keep his schedule free the rest of the day so he could go to the launch..." the woman's voice informed her matter of factly.

"Oh... okay... well, you think that meeting is still on?" she asked and she hated how pathetically hopeful her voice sounded.

"It might be, he hasn't called in" the woman replied, unsure.

"Right" she said, telling herself to keep breathing.

"He is probably stuck there, but will be on time for the launch" the woman reassured her, even as Rory felt she was just trying to calm her.

"Right, of course" she agreed, aching to hang up.

"Do you want me to tell him to call you, if he checks in?" the woman asked, her words compassionate.

"No, I'm sure he is going to show up any minute, thank you" she said, forcing her words to come out as cheerful as possible.

She mumbled a bye and hung up.

She looked back outsice, her eyes searching the sky over the buildings.

He was in a meeting. Of course he was.

Tristan was Tristan.

He was stable and calm, and trustworthy and rational.

She closed her eyes as she reminded herself.

She felt calmness seep through her as she repeated the thoughts in her head like a mantra.

After a full minute, she felt her body relax slowly.

The calmness seemed to linger on even as she turned her head up to the sky to see the clouds roll in over the darkening city.


	31. The bitter shade

He glanced at his watch as he tore the door open walking through the room with determined steps. His mind registered the astonished assistant, who apparently knew better than to approach or try to stop a man as determined as he looked at that moment.

He walked to the familiar door tearing it open without a knock.

"Just what the hell do you think you are doing?" he asked as he walked into the office, coming to stand in front of an astonished Jess.

He looked up from behind his desk, seemingly startled but somehow not at all shocked.

"Tristan" he murmured "my thoughts exactly" he said, his words cynical.

Tristan sneered, walking up to the desk and placing his hands onto it.

"Get your ass up" he gritted out "we can make the 2:30 flight back and still be on time."

Jess leaned back in his chair, sighing.

"Tristan" he said "although I enjoy you flying your ass down here regularly to drag me to New York..." his words dripping with sarcasm.

"I don't have time for this Mariano" he said, his fists clenching.

"I'm not going" Jess said, his face serious.

"I don't know what you are fucking doing" Tristan pushed himself off the desk, taking a step back "but she needs you, okay?"

"Trust me, she doesn't" Jess gritted out, seemingly annoyed.

"Is this some sick ploy to play the brooding intellect?" Tristan spat and he immediately regretted his words. This was the old Tristan, angry and uncensored. He thought that Tristan was gone, he worked hard on that. He kept his urges in check now and he didn't slip often.

Jess scoffed, shaking his head and Tristan hated him in that moment for having better control over his responses.

"Look" Jess said, raising his hand "She is good at this. She may dread it, but she's always been good at this. Standing up and speaking and dressing up pretty and charming everyone. She'll do great" he said and Tristan saw his demeanor falter, as though he was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince Tristan.

"I know she'll do great" he cut him off, his voice bitter "I have no fucking doubt she won't do exceptionally great. I am not talking about that. I am talking about being there to support her. I am talking about her being able to look out on that crowd and see a fucking face that makes her feel strong. And if that means dragging fucking Barry Manilow into that fucking gallery, than that's what I'll do."

Jess' face scrunched and he saw the guilt inflicted there as the man dropped his gaze to the papers scattered on his desk. He knew that expression and he recognized the moment. He'd experienced it more than once in the courtroom. The moment where he won. Not the moment that the jury announced the verdict, but the moment when he felt the room shift, when he knew, with extreme certainty that he made his point. That he convinced everyone.

"I'm not sure I'm one of those faces, Tristan" Jess murmured with the loss of the convicted "Just trust me on this one, okay?" he said, his voice pleading, despite being strong and calm.  
"Shut the hell up. I don't need your fucking self loathing, okay? She trusts you. And she looks up to you. Having your support means the fucking world to her, so I don't care what your issue is. Get over it" he said, turning around as he walked out of the office.

"I hope you have a fucking suit somewhere around here" he murmured as he heard Jess rise from his seat with a sigh.

xxxxxxx

He glanced at Jess' nervous leg, that's been restless since the minute they got into the cab on the airport. The guy hadn't said a thing to him during the whole trip from Philadelphia back to New York and to be honest, he was grateful. He still felt annoyed at having had to play the bounty hunter once again and he felt even more annoyed at the fact that they were now 27 minutes late for Rory's book launch party.

He had 8 missed calls from her and even though he felt insanely guilty, he opted not to call her back the minute they touched down on the runway. She would see soon enough why he was late when they walked in the door.

"Is it backed up real bad?" he asked the cab driver, leaning forward.

The guy grunted back a response, but he could see it for himself, the long line of bright yellow taxi cabs blocking up the street.

He sighed, leaning back into his seat, glancing at Jess, who was apparently lost in thought, his legs still bouncing a mile a minute.

"Come on, it's only three blocks away" he said, finally getting tired of waiting. He tossed the driver a couple of bills and was already out on the curb, hearing Jess open his door right behind him.

He half-ran down the street, trying to avoid the passers by and checking to see if Jess had fallen behind. He kept up and Tristan was grateful.

He finally saw the gallery they were heading towards, a posh and artsy place that the PR people settled on for the event. It was seemingly packed and he was half relieved and half nervous for Rory.

He was sure she could handle it and Jess was right, she was flawless when it came to performing in front of a crowd, even with her natural shyness and down to earth self. But he couldn't help the nagging feeling that his sudden, unexplained absence all day must have been hurtful for her. She would understand, he told himself, and quickened his steps, exhaling in relief when his hand finally reached out to open the glass door of the gallery. He flashed the invitation to the assistant at the door and made his way inside, hearing Jess follow behind.

He came to stop close to the entrance, the crowd of people becoming more thick further ahead. He raised slightly on his feet, to be able to see over their heads and see what was happening.

Emma was standing in the center with the mike and as far as he could tell, she was making an introduction. His eyes traveled from her towards the figure standing next to her and his heartbeat sped up, noticing Rory in her green dress that had been hanging in their bedroom for the past three days.

She looked breathtaking. Her figure was accentuated by the flowing chiffon dress, her legs long and lean, with the delicate heels strapped onto her ankles. Her hair was swept to the side, ending in soft curls that fell down her shoulders. She looked nervous and tense and his chest tightened as he watched her scan the room.

Her eyes finally met his and a myriad of emotions passed through her face. He could identify relief and anger and confusion and finally shock as her eyes traveled on to his right.

He glanced to where she was looking and saw Jess step up next to him. He nodded slightly with his head and exhaled slowly.

Tristan glanced back at Rory, whose face lit up with a small smile, before her gaze fell back onto him.

He sighed an accomplished smile as he saw her features visibly relax. Her eyes sparkled as he mouthed him a 'thank you' and he couldn't help but smile, nodding in return.

Those mouthed words, that look on her face, that slow relaxing of her body that he could notice from across a crowded room was worth all the trouble and anxiety that he had to go through while racing to another state to collect some delusional mentor.

He felt like the superhero in her comic book.

He exhaled another breath and relaxed himself, not taking his eyes off of Rory as he concentrated on Emma's words.

"...and thus, Rory Gilmore's first novel was embraced by Truncheon and we are proud of presenting her to you tonight. Here tonight, to talk about the newest addition to our line up this year is co-founder of Truncheon, Chris Newton."

Emma finished and stepped aside, allowing a tall guy to take the mike.

"Thank you Emma. I am delighted to speak to you tonight about this wonderful book... but I actually think that there is a more suitable person for that" the guy said with a grin as he zeroed in on Jess in the crowd, "Jess Mariano, who discovered Rory's incredible talent."

The crowd murmured surprised, as people started to turn around, glancing towards Jess, and Tristan turned to watch as he squirmed visibly under the scrutiny.

He sighed, closing his eyes for a second as if wishing he'd stayed put in his office, before he slowly walked to make his way to the front, through the parting crowd.

Tristan glanced back up at Rory, who was smiling thankfully glancing from him to Jess and back.

Tristan could now pick out her family, standing a little off to the side, with her grandparents looking proud if a bit out of place and Lorelai and Chris and Luke all standing in a close group.

He caught Lorelai's gaze and she seemed surprised and thankful at the same time, her face full of warm emotion as she met Tristan's eyes.

He gave her a small nod and glanced back to where Jess was now finally making his way up to Rory. He gave her a quick hug and slowly took the mike into his hand.

"Good evening" he said, his voice deep and slightly humbled.

He glanced around the room, more annoyed than nervous and took a deep breath.

"I wasn't going to be here tonight" he started, glancing briefly at Tristan "I wanted to let Rory's words speak for themselves" he went on, looking at her as Rory smiled, blushing slightly.

"Because I truly think that her words will, on their on accord and without any hype" he went on and Rory's blush turned deeper.

Jess glanced back at her again, taking a deep breath as if trying to collect his thoughts.

"I've known Rory for a long time" he finally said, and his voice was quiet, dreamy almost "I've known her before she knew herself..." he chuckled and the crowd laughed with him "and even back then... when she was mostly walking around in plaid skirts and knee high socks... I could tell she had things to say and places to go."

"And I so wanted to watch her go and hear her speak" he said, his gaze drifting off to focus on the floor.

The sentence made Tristan tense for an unknown reason and he glanced at Rory, seeing her smile falter and her posture tense.

It left him feeling uneasy.

"Wanted to see all that she could uncover and learn. Wanted to hear her reason and logic, because she has this incredible way of seeing things. Incredible way of realizing things."

"She isn't without faults" he continued and Tristan felt an odd sense of anxiety rise within him as the words floated towards him over the silenced room.

"... but she has a natural grace with which she overcomes those faults, for which she makes up for and moves on from."

Tristan glanced back at Rory who seemed lost in thought, her face serious, showing no trace of the smile or happiness she was showing just moments before. She sighed, and he could see her chest rising shakily. He concentrated on her, her forehead creasing slightly as if she were considering Jess' words, but not really agreeing, as if she felt undeserving... shameful almost.

"That grace translates to her writing and I found myself rereading her words over and over again. Because it made me see things... differently... made me reconsider" he said, his words faltering slightly.

Tristan glanced back at Jess, surprised by the emotion seeping through his words.

"When you read this book... you find a different perspective... you find incredible wisdom and solemnity... but it's in layers... and you experience it with the protagonist... learning from life and memories and the little pieces of information that she gathers... that Rory gathers along the way."

Jess' words continued to reach him and his heartbeat sped up, the meaning of the words leaving a growing ache inside of him.

They seemed true and too real, too personal. He wondered if anyone else had that feeling besides him in the room. He felt a pair of eyes on him and his silent question was answered as his gaze met with Lorelai's worried one.

She was looking at him with an uneasy expression and Tristan suddenly had trouble swallowing. He glanced back at Jess, who continued to talk.

"This book is a glimpse into her mind, her soul... and it is a beautiful one, so you should be thankful and honored... as am I for having the opportunity."

"Rory" he said and Tristan watched as she glanced up, looking slightly startled "You were right."

There was a moment of silence and Tristan held his breath, the crowded room around him melting away as he watched the two persons at the front of the room.

"Everything has a reason and everything has meaning. And this book holds a lot more meaning to me than I could express" Jess said and finished his speech, letting his hand fall holding the mike.

Rory stared at him, the two standing looking at each other as the room watched in astonished silence.

Tristan breathed in deep, his mind buzzing from the words that Jess had delivered.

He had a growing nagging feeling inside of him that he couldn't quite identify. As if he had the answer to some unknown question nagging in the back of his mind just waiting to be revealed.

He thought of their initial meeting in Philadelphia, his reluctance to communicate with Rory, as if there were something holding him back, something making him feel like it wasn't his place to read her words. He thought of what the cause for that was. He thought it was his infatuation... his persisting love for her... but shouldn't that have propelled him to participate... shouldn't that have made him eager?

There was a loud applause breaking and he awoke from his trance startled, joining in.

He watched as the mike was handed back to Emma, who thanked Jess for his words and proceeded to talk about the release of the book.

Tristan's eyes wandered back to Rory who was once again focusing on the floor, with Jess standing next to her.

There was something about her demeanor. Something he couldn't quite name.

Why was he not planing to come here? Even though it obviously meant the world to him.

This morning, in his annoyance, he thought it was manipulation on his part, his absence a supposed cry for attention.

But his words now, were so honest, so humble, so adoring. And her reaction... so guilty.

The word reverberated in his brain with a loud echo.

His breathing hitched, his collar suddenly feeling too tight.

She was mad at him initially for taking the book to Jess... but why hadn't she taken it herself? What was stopping her? She had said she wanted to do this on her own, but that made no sense. What could make her keep this from someone she obviously looked to for appraisal?

_Guilt._

The single word suddenly invaded his conscious, setting his body in burning ache.

He stared back at Rory, watching her face downcast.

It reminded her of the way she looked when they were... apart... at her grandparents' party... or standing before his doorway as she would knock, ashamed and weak... or when they got back together and she insisted on knowing what happened with Anna.

His heart suddenly seemed to stop.

A sharp pain thundered through his chest as he glanced from Rory to Jess and back again.

He felt a wave of nausea rise from deep within him, his legs buckling as his arms went out to steady himself. He staggered backwards, his sight going fuzzy as he stumbled, turning on his heel, dragging himself towards the door.

He tore it open, stumbling through onto the evening sidewalk. He took in a large breath, waiting for the cool relief that the air would bring, but instead he felt his chest feel more tight, a reflex at the sudden humidity and warmth.

He looked up in confusion, barely making out the swelling clouds in the night sky.

He felt a distant break of thunder, as if on cue, and he felt another wave of nausea hit him.

He looked around, frantically moving towards the dark alley only a couple of feet away. His right hand reached out, steadying himself against the rough brick wall as he leaned forward emptying his guts onto the dark ground.

He coughed and gagged, sucking in the air to try to fill his lungs, to get control back over his body, but his mind was spinning and he had to close his eyes in order to brace himself.

He took deep breaths, counting them, concentrating on nothing but the numbers, a method he learned way back in military school. The rhythmic counting had a calming effect, slowly allowing him to push away the disturbing thoughts and images that had flooded his brain. When he opened his eyes, he was calm, although the devastating anxiety in his chest remained as a dull ache.

"Tristan" he heard his voice and he closed his eyes again, leaning back against the bricks.

The nausea returned, although not as strong as the initial one, slowly replaced instead by anger and rage.

He heard footsteps and he opened his eyes to see Jess. He was calm, unashamed and Tristan suddenly felt an incredible urge to launch at him, to knock him down, to tear into his flesh.

He watched as Jess slowly came to stop in front of him, his eyes studying him carefully.

He made no effort to control his face, knowing full well that the disgust would be present on his face.

"You still think it was a good idea to bring me here?" the brunet asked, his voice void of mocking.

Tristan sneered, the urge to punch him back with a vengeance.

"She went to see you last year, when we were broken up" he gritted out, through clenched teeth and he barely recognized his own voice.

Jess didn't show any shock or guilt.

"Yes" he answered, his voice emotionless.

The darkness of the alley cast a shadow on his face and Tristan felt himself crumble beneath the weight of the words.

He slowly slid to the ground, the brick wall scraping his back through the suit.

Jess mirrored his movements on the other side of the alley and the two stared at each other quietly as the sounds of the busy New York street penetrated into the dark alley.

"She came and said she left you" came Jess' voice and Tristan's fists clenched at the choice of words. He couldn't tell if they were a deliberate choice or just mere facts, but it made his breathing ragged nevertheless.

"She seemed broken" he went on and Tristan had to close his eyes, knowing what was coming next, "and I couldn't deny her, because I never could..."

"I don't want to hear it, Jess" he broke him off, the wave of nausea once again hitting him with full force.

The brunet complied and he once again wished Jess wouldn't have so much self control so he could justify having none at all himself. He imagined the leaps it would get him to get to the other side of the alley, his body already gearing itself for the punch he would deliver.

He had to close his eyes again and exhale a long breath to calm himself.

"It took me a while to realize, it could have been anyone" came Jess' quiet, contemplative words.

"Still, it had to be you" Tristan gritted out, his words bitter.

"Yeah well, sometimes I wish it weren't" came the quiet confession and Tristan opened his eyes to study the other guy across from him. He saw the same expression he was wearing this morning in his office in Philadelphia, the same he was wearing the first time Tristan went to him with the novel. The expression he saw as self centered brooding before slowly changed, making him see more clearly. It was an expression of defeat. A confession of hurt and loss.

He couldn't quite muster the sympathy.

Even though he knew what it was like to feel emotionally robbed and falling at the feet of Rory Gilmore.

"You know how you know that Rory's in love with someone else when she kisses you?" he heard Jess ask, as he leaned back against his own brick wall, producing a humorless chuckle.

"She cries" Tristan replied bitterly, knowing the answer all too well himself, and the two stared at each other knowingly.

There was a silent minute as the unwanted bond surely solidified between the two.

"She's in love with you" Jess said finally, his voice quiet, defenseless, "she was in love with you back then too."

Tristan squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out his words, trying to get rid of the pulsating pain in his head, his chest, his guts.

"I don't know anymore" he whispered.

"Don't do that, man" Jess groaned and Tristan felt the nausea return.

"Don't start feeling sorry for yourself, because in the end, you get to wake up with her" Jess said, his tone accusing.

"And wonder for the rest of my life when I'll lose her. Or when she'll change her mind? Or when her mother once again decides I am public enemy number one?" he spat.

"Still worth it" came Jess' response and Tristan chuckled letting the back of his head hit the brick wall behind him.

The sentiment echoed in the dark alley and he was glad for the cover, for the sanctuary, because he knew that only seconds ago he would have said that too, would have shouted it in front of that room full of people, from the fucking rooftop if needed.

But now.

Now he was hiding in an alley with someone who's been trampled on as many times as he had, by the same woman. With someone who still could, after all that had happened, be dragged across the country to fall at her feet and declare his devotion.

The two sat quietly, the air heavy around them. Tristan felt the first drops of rain on his face, the cool drops the first comfortable feeling he had felt for the past minutes.

He closed his eyes, counting the drops hitting his face, until it was hard to tell them apart.

He got up slowly, his head feeling clear, his feet steady, despite the aching in his chest.

He took a step towards the street.

"She'll be worried" Jess warned him, but he didn't respond, walking out onto the street into the rain, hearing Jess sigh as he turned the corner and walked past the gallery and down the quickly emptying street.


	32. Composing Halleluja

She felt Emma pass her the mic and she took it, self consciously. She felt the deafening sound of expectation filling her ears and she felt herself take a shaky breath, her whole body trembling slightly.

"Uhm, thank you" she said, surprised by the volume of her voice coming back to her over the speakers placed around the room.

She saw a thousand faces around her, she felt her mother's warming gaze, her grandparents' proud gleaming, her father's reassuring smile and Luke's quiet support. She saw Paris and Doyle and Lane and Zack and half of Star's Hollow squeezed in between the people who gathered at the gallery for the launch.

She felt Jess stand next to her and she felt the warmth of being happy and overwhelmed at the same time.

She felt so thankful, so hopeful at him being here, him making the effort, it made her start to believe that maybe her mother was right, maybe things would get back to normal, despite the heavy meaning of his words still sinking deep into her heart.

She glanced back to where Tristan was standing, searching the crowd to find his face again. Somehow she felt an incredible need to see him, look at him, connect to him. He was standing in the back, not having moved forward since he'd arrived, having had literally dragged Jess with him like a kicking and screaming child.

She finally found his eyes and her breath faltered for a second, because his face seemed to be troubled, his eyes glancing from spot to spot, unfocused, his face pale. She wished he would look at her, focus on her, their eyes meeting, so she could connect to him, but the moment seemed fleeting and she lost track of him, swallowed by the crowd of expectant faces.

She felt an uneasy restlessness flood her body.

"Rory?" she heard Emma whisper and she glanced back to the editor standing next to her.

She saw her stare at her, while Jess seemed to watch the back of the room intently.

Rory's eyes fell onto his face and she saw his serious concentration.

She glanced back towards the back, hoping to find Tristan, but she couldn't make out his form behind the sea of faces.

"Rory, they're waiting" Emma whispered and she looked out onto the faces of the crowd, the group of people staring at her.

She suddenly felt the anxiety rush her, back with a vengeance and a heat wave traveled through her body as she realized she'd been standing there stupidly for the good part of a minute.

"Uhm, right, hello" she said, her voice confused.

There was quiet laughter from the crowd and she blushed, trying to focus on the speech she had prepared.

Had she prepared a speech?

She shook her head lightly, trying to regain concentration.

"I want to thank you all for coming tonight" she finally started, gathering strength.

"I am very grateful and so proud to be standing up here."

She felt Jess' hand brush her arm gently as he moved passed her discretely, disappearing off to the side.

She glanced after him in confusion, but she was given no time to ponder about where he was heading off to as she felt the myriad of eyes all focused on her.

"I never thought I would write a book" she went on, taking a deep breath "It wasn't in the five year plan, or ten year plan, or any plan for that matter. Back when I was wearing the plaid skirts and all that... I had other goals... But life seems to stir you in the right direction. In the direction that you should end up taking, even if you dumbly cling to ideas and dreams that are not even your own anymore. I think that I had a revelation last winter, and I realized things that I must have known all along. This book is so personal, because it's me owning up to those realizations..."

She suddenly felt self-aware, bearing her soul to a room full of relative strangers.

"I don't even know if that makes sense... uhm, hopefully I am better with words in a written form."

She heard the crowd chuckle and she relaxed slightly, trying to wrap up her speech.

"I want to thank Jess Mariano" she said, closing her eyes, because she was too afraid to try to look for him in the crowd, the nagging feeling in the back of her mind telling her she won't find him "because he's been this incredible support and also... very trusting to put all this faith in me."

The crowd chuckled again and Rory thought it was funny how that sounded like a joke to them, when her concern seamed so real to her.

"And I want to thank my family, especially my mother, for standing by me even if the plan seemed crazy at the time" she went on, glancing at her mother, who was seemingly fighting tears.

"And..." she paused, because the incredible anxiety in her chest returned as she once again searched the room in vain "I have to thank one more person, because without him I don't think this book would exist..." she said, her voice faltering as the tears prickled her eyes.

She couldn't say if they were tears of being overcome with emotions or tears of fear, everything melted into a blur, tightening her chest.

"Without him I don't think I would exist" she added, her voice incredibly quiet as she breathed a deep breath trying to calm herself.

She glanced at her mother again, who was looking worried, glancing toward the exit and she knew in the back of her mind what she was looking at, knew what was happening. She wanted to drop the damn mic and dash out, cutting her way through the crowd, but she was rooted into her spot, her chest tight with words that she needed to say.

She knew that if no other time, she needed to be honest now. Needed to take a stand and let her voice ring out for the world to hear, for him to hear.

"My fiance, Tristan, who has given me more love and support and strength than I will ever deserve. Thank you" she let her hand fall as the room erupted in applause.

She felt Emma take the mic from her hand as she stood there helpless and limp, her body suddenly feeling ancient and tired.

She turned to her mother who was trying to smile, but was unable to hide her growing concern.

She heard Emma distinctly address the crowd to pose questions, but her own legs started moving as she left the center area.

She heard Emma's surprised voice as she corrected herself, and she felt music start up around her.

She saw dozens of people approach her, trying to congratulate, but her legs were carrying her towards the door, ignoring the people around her.

She cut her way through the crowd of astonished people and finally made her way out onto the street.

She came to stop in the doorway as she saw Jess standing on the sidewalk as he was staring off to the distance.

Rain was starting to pour down and she saw his hair wet, drops of water making their way down his face.

She turned in the direction he was staring at, her heart pounding as she feared what he was looking at, but she couldn't find it on the sidewalk were people were rushing to try to get out of the rain.

"Where is he?" she asked, startled by the way her own voice sounded.

Jess looked at her slowly, as if recovering from a dreamy haze, his face solemn as the rain cascaded down on it.

He didn't answer, but looked at Rory, his face reflecting hurt.

"I didn't tell him, Rory" he said, his voice quiet.

The simple, pleading confession rocked her, her heart beating away wildly at the hidden meanings of that sentence.

She closed her eyes as she felt her body tremble, her knees threatening to give way.

She opened her eyes, swallowing the bitter bile that was burning the back of her throat.

"I know you wouldn't" she said, because she was certain of this.

His face seemed to reflect a flash of relief.

"He figured it out" she whispered, stating what was obvious to her.

He figured it out because he was smart and observant. He figured it out because it was obvious.

"Rory" Jess said pulling her out of her repetitive thoughts. His tone was meant to sound comforting, she was sure, but all that she felt was delirium rising.

"Where is he?" she repeated her question, her words becoming hysterical as she cut him off.

"I don't know" he whispered, his voice hurt and quiet "he left."

"Oh God" she breathed out, stepping down the ledge of the entrance to the gallery. She felt the rain slowly soak her, her hair becoming heavy on her shoulder, but she hardly cared. She paced in front of the entrance, willing the anxiety to dissipate from her body. She knew it was a futile attempt.

"I should have told him... I should have..." she recited frantically, her mind selfishly on a loop. She caught the face of Jess, pure pain plastered all over it. She shut her mouth, realizing how incredibly selfish she must have sounded to him.

She looked at him, his form the pure picture of defeat as he stood in the rain, his face frozen in an expression of hurt, like the mask had finally cracked, like the veil had finally lifted.  
"Jess" she whispered, guilt rushing back to her again.

He blinked, seemingly trying to compose himself.

"Hmmm?" he murmured, obviously not trusting his voice enough to speak.

"I'm sorry..." she said, the words sounding shrill as they fell to the asphalt beneath their feet, breaking into worthless molecules next to the dissolving raindrops.

He smiled a wry smile closing his eyes.

She stepped closer to him, coming to stand in front of him, her arms going to his shoulders as she desperately wanted to reach him.

She felt the guilt return, to every single molecule of her body. She felt clumsy and inconsiderate, unable to control words or movement, like a huge beast breaking toys.

"I am sorry I was so careless and I am sorry you had to suffer my childishness" she pleaded, her voice weak as she spoke. The words felt heavy to her, not right and she suddenly wished she had spent months and months writing this speech instead of the book that was a vague labyrinth of her feelings rather than her owning up to her true faults.

He swallowed hard.

"I never meant to hurt you" she said, closing her eyes as the hurt made it hard for her to swallow.

His warm brown eyes met hers and she felt demolished, the deep vortex of pain pulling her in as she stared at him.

"I know, Rory" he said slowly.

His face, as if by extreme self control, slowly returned to it's calm self. She saw the lines rearrange, soothing into the face she knew, the carefully controlled stance that was Jess.

He took another breath.

"He loves you" he said slowly.

She felt a sob break from her chest and she realized she was crying, her tears mixing with the rain.

"He left" she said, not thrusting any more words to be formulated correctly as her chest heaved.

"He's hurting" he shook his head, trying to swallow back the emotions that were threatening to rush him again.

"You have to understand that."

"What if it's too late?" she asked, breathless.

He smiled at her, his hand reaching up to her face to brush the damp locks away.

"It isn't" he said and she wished to the sky and god and everything she could think of that he was right.

She turned, once again staring into the direction that Jess was initially looking towards when she came out of the gallery.

"Go" she heard Jess whisper.

She glanced back at him, before setting off, down the street, heading towards wherever her heart was guiding her.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

She felt her chest heave frantically, panic soaking her body, more effectively than the rain managed to.

She couldn't tell how long she'd been out in the rain, and she couldn't even tell where she was.

She recognized the direction she was heading in, but she refused to waist time by looking at street signs, or trying to think of a quicker way to move.

As if all extra thought and effort would break her concentration, would falter her determination. Her determination for things to, despite all signs proving otherwise, turn out okay.

She knew that if she could just get to him, if her fingers could touch him, if their eyes could meet, then she would know, know with all her might that things were going to be alright, that they were all going to be alright.

Her feet were moving automatically, her shoes undoubtedly ruined by now, her dress clinging to her like a heavy cloak.

She didn't care. She hardly felt all this, the physical feelings barely registering because the voices in her head, the doubt and fear were so loud.

She contemplated closing her eyes, because her sight didn't seem to guide her, didn't seem to help her out. She wished she could hear him, feel him, find him through that connection she knew they had, she stubbornly hoped they had.

She suddenly came to a halt, blinking to adjust to the sight in front of her.

The street was empty, with only a couple of cars rushing past as the rain fell heavily, casting a heavy curtain over the corner.

She saw him then, his lone figure standing by the edge of the sidewalk, his eyes unfocused as he stared out onto the street.

He was soaked, his posture defeated and she felt an incredibly sense of relief and hurt at the same time, seeing him like that.

She felt her feet begin to move again as she made her way up to him, her eyes settled on the street sign behind him.

61st and Madison.

She felt her steps speed up and he turned slowly, as if in a dream, noticing her.

She saw his muscles tense, his jaw flex, and his eyes close, his whole demeanor looking broken. She wanted to reach out and touch him, pull him in her arms, but she stopped herself, the anxiety returning to her chest.

"Rory" he said slowly, his voice small, as if pleading with her to leave him alone, to go away.

"I wanted to tell you" she said "I tried."

The words rushed out of her mouth and she felt they were ridiculous, her voice childish and whining.

"Please" he stopped her, his voice strained as he closed his eyes.

"I wanted to because I know that I was horrible and weak and that you were strong and so determined" she went on, unable to filter words, unable to obey his request.

"Stop" he whispered, his voice becoming strained as his fists clenched.

"And I am nothing like that... I am worthless and I am childish" she went on, ignoring him.

"Rory" he gritted out her name, trying to silence her.

"But I didn't because I was hoping... that things were new and untainted and I was given another chance... and I didn't want to admit that I was undeserving of that chance."

They made sense to her, in some deep recess of her mind, these words, but spoken out, they felt so rushed, so in vein. She suddenly felt that they were useless.

"Please, stop talking" Tristan said, his voice less pleading and more commanding.

"No. You have to hear it. This time, you have to hear it" she sobbed, her voice ringing out as she saw lightning flash around them. The thunder followed momentarily, the sound so explosive, so intense, it rumbled through her body, making her insides clench. She welcomed the intense shockwave, because it seemed to silence the anxiety inside of her and she wished there would be another thunder, more intense to calm her.

She took a deep breath, her voice sounding more calm and strong.

"I left you, the morning after you proposed to me here, because I was running. Because I thought the reason that my life seemed like a trap was you... when really everything that was good in my life was you" she said, her voice sure, determined.

She saw him listen, his eyes fixed on the ground next to her, but every fiber of him listening to her. There was no protest, no pleading for her to stop, even as his muscles still flexed under his soaked clothes.

"I left you and had this incredible pain that I didn't know what to do with, that I wanted gone. And I know that you can take that pain and turn it into strength and conviction and everything that makes you who you are, but I let that pain take over me and make me selfish and cruel" she went on.

The words seemed true, coming from deep within her, and she realized that the truth, spoken out loud, confessed, was an incredible weapon. And incredible force. More intense than lighting and thunder.

It was medicine. It was peace. It was a quiet force that slowly dissolved the guilt and pain that was swirling inside of her.

"I went to Jess... and I used him... I slept with him" she went on, the words coming easy, despite her fears.

She knew they were rhetorical, because he knew all this by now, figured this all out by now.

It still seemed to demolish him and she cringed as she heard him growl as if he were in actual physical pain.

"And there is no excuse for what I did" she went on swallowing.

"I knew I didn't belong with him. I knew I didn't belong anywhere else. Because everything pulled me back to you, tied me to you" she said.

She watched as he exhaled a slow breath and she felt as though the tension in his muscles dissolved, if only by a fraction. It set an incredibly fire inside her chest, a fire of hope. She felt herself take a step closer to him, not daring to touch him, but wanting to. She felt like if she could portray this fire of hope, this incredible feeling of want, she could reach him, could make him understand.

She closed her eyes as another flash of lightning illuminated their form. She held her breath as the thunder followed suit, shaking her whole body with delicious strength. She wanted to pull in all that electricity, all that charge and pour it into her words, make them come to life.

"And I was given this incredible second chance. And I was given your incredible strength, I was given you, to stand by me and wait until I stumbled over and over again to finally figure out what I had to do to make things right. And you stood and bared, so please... please bear with me" she finished, feeling herself smile as she reached out for him.

"There is nothing to bear, Rory" she heard him speak, his voice barely audible over the falling rain.

He looked defeated once again, energy visibly draining from his body by the second.

It made her breathing speed up, because it felt like defeat and looked like surrender.

"It is over" she pleaded, her voice once again frantic as she whispered.

"Don't you see?" he cried out, his voice more intense than the thunder following it.

"Don't you fucking see it doesn't matter? I know you can't be happy with him. I know better than anyone. I know it was useless and I know it left you empty, trust me, I know" he shouted at her, his face intense with emotions.

He stared at her for a second.

"What I don't know is why being with me is any different" he said, his voice close to cracking.

The words shook her more intensely than the lighting and the thunder that crashed around them, illuminating his face colored by hurt and anger and confusion. She saw his anguish, saw his despair and she felt herself move up to him, her hands reaching out to touch his face.

He closed his eyes as her fingers traced his cheeks, inhaling sharply as his muscles once again flexed.

"Tristan DuGray" she said, willing him to open his eyes to look at her.

"It is different, because you are you" she breathed out, her fingers brushing up to his rain soaked hair.

"You woke me up. You woke me up from a fucking nightmare. You woke me up and waited until my eyes adjusted to the light and waited until I could pick apart what was real and what was not. You waited until I could finally see" she whispered, moving closer, her face only inches away from his.

His eyes focused on hers and she felt, for the first time that whole day that incredible peace that came with standing in his sight, with looking in his eyes.

"And all I see is you" she went on, her voice faltering as she saw his pain filled eyes.

"You are so beautiful that it hurts. Inside and out. You fit me and I am thankful for every day that I get with you. I want you and I want you now and forever because I am sure, I am sure like I have never been sure of anything else in my life" she went on, her words frantic and pleading.

She felt him sigh deeply as she moved even closer to him, her rain soaked body molting against his as her arms moved down his back, his body limp in her strong hold.

"I am yours and I have the fucking ring to prove it. So don't you dare stand there and question if you are different at all. You are different. You are the one" she whispered into his ear as she moved even closer.

She saw the lightning, even as she squeezed her eyes more tightly than she squeezed him to herself. She felt the thunder rattle her closer to him, the shockwaves reverberating from his body to hers and back and she felt his hand slowly snake around her, his grip becoming firm on her waist.

He pulled her closer, breathing in her scent and she felt the sobs break from her chest as she felt the anxiety in her body dissolve and drip to the ground with the raindrops that were soaking them.


	33. The book of love is long and boring

**AN: **

**I realize it has been a while and I hope there is still someone out there who remembers this story. It has been hard to find the right words to finish it, but it does need to be finished. So thank you for sticking by and thank you for all your input. Special thanks to bdevils76, your reviews were inspiring and motivating.**

* * *

"Who is it?" she asked walking towards the door, her movements careful, purposefully calm.

The room was quiet and warm from the sun shining brightly through the windows, even as she could feel the slight movement of the air from the air conditioning, making her skin rise in goose bumps.

"It's me" she heard his voice and she froze, the chill on her skin becoming more apparent as her mind reeled with the fact that he was standing there, on the other side of the door.

"Tristan" she scolded, inhaling as the fluttering in her stomach intensified "you are not supposed to be here" she said, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"Open up" he said.

She listened to his voice. It was not pleading, not playful, but strong and determined.

"No" she furrowed her brows, taking another deep breath as she watched the door.

"Just an inch, come on" came his voice from the other side, insistent.

She sighed exasperated and opened the door slightly.

She felt the small current of air rush past her, the quiet of the room disappearing as she heard the noises from outside. She placed her hands against the door, willing herself to want to keep it from opening, as if her hands could persuade him.

She listened, holding her breath.

"You can't come in" she said, but he cut her off.

"I know" he sighed, drawing out the words and she felt a slight pressure on the door as she heard him scoot down onto the floor, his weight coming to rest against the door.

She took a deep breath, furrowing her brow slightly as she mirrored his movements and sat on the floor carefully, her head leaning back against the door.

She felt the forces balance out, her back resting comfortably against the smooth wood of the door.

"You freaking out yet?" he asked, his tone warm and playful, but there was something else she could hear there, something he undoubtedly tried hard to mask.

"For your information, I am not" she said, raising an eyebrow.

She waited for a moment then continued more quietly.

"I think I used up all my freak out passes."

He chuckled and took a deep breath. There was silence and she waited patiently, knowing he had reasons.

"I am freaked out a bit" he said, quietly but in one breath and she turned slightly as if trying to see through the door separating them.

"Why?" she asked worriedly as she held her breath once again.

"It's all those people there" he said "what if I mess up?" he asked, his voice bordering on laughter and she could tell he was trying to mask his nervousness.

"There is still time to back out" she joked calmly.

"I don't want to" he replied without missing a beat, his voice serious now. He sighed again and she worried her lower lip trying to identify whatever was bothering him.

"Tristan?" she asked.

"Hmmm?" he hummed and his tone made her think of Sundays spent in bed, when he would fall asleep next to her as she went on and on about something. She suddenly wished they were there instead of here.

"What's bothering you?" she asked quietly.

He sighed again.

"I just... I am afraid something's gonna go wrong, everything is going too well, something is bound to..."

"Are you worried I'll change my mind?" she cut him off.

There was a moment of silence, a cruel, telling, understandable moment of hesitation and she felt the old familiar waves of guilt rattle her gently.

She could picture him on the other side of the door, forehead scrunched slightly as he attempted to answer her, but he sighed again instead, as if not wanting to hurt her with his answer.

"I am sure" she said, her voice calm and quiet "never been more sure."

She felt her whole body tense with determination, her breathing becoming fast and shallow as she battled the urge to rise and open the door wide, to prove him with touch, with smell, with noise that she was and will forever be sure.

She calmed herself, waiting for his reaction instead, knowing that patience went further with him than noisy exclamations.

There was a beat of silence.

"Okay" he whispered finally, his tone warm, reassuring.

There was another silence, but it felt right, her body relaxing against the door once again.

"Tris?" she asked, her hand creeping through the crack between the door and the frame.

"Yeah?" he said as his hand touched hers, their fingers intertwining.

"You wanna hear how I remember it?" she asked, a small smile creeping on her face.

"What?" he asked, his voice slightly confused and she smiled, imagining him furrowing his brows in concentration.

"61st and Madison" she replied and heard his chuckle of recognition.

"Yeah" he replied and she blushed slightly.

She felt her cheeks warm and she closed her eyes, her fingers clutching his more tightly.

"I saw you step off the sidewalk, hailing down a cab and I recognized you instantly" she whispered, as if she were telling a secret.

She kept her eyes closed, recalling the memories that were somehow more colorful, and in slow motion, like dreams that you revisit again and again, painting them endearingly with every reminiscence.

"You looked taller, stronger, more grown up, but your eyes were the same as back in Chilton" she whispered, feeling as a little child confessing a crush.

"How so?" he asked as she paused for a second, his voice urging her to go on.

"I don't know, full of mischief" she chuckled, shrugging lightly.

There was silence on the other side of the door, as if he were holding his breath.

"I must have stared at you for a good minute" she admitted, chuckling again as she felt her cheeks flame.

"It's hard to catch a cab in the afternoon" he offered amused.

She chuckled.

"And then you looked at me" she said, remembering that afternoon, almost four years ago with clear vividness "and it was so weird, because I remember it being a shitty day on a shitty week and a shitty year even, but... when I looked into your eyes, I suddenly felt young and full of life again."

"So you smiled" he said, his voice barely a whisper.

"So I smiled, because everything felt a little lighter for a moment" she said. He squeezed her hand warmly, his warm skin heating hers as she tried to make that warmness her own, strengthening her from the inside against the soft trembles of her body.

"So as long as you can make me feel like that with just one look..." she inhaled, feeling strong and determined "we'll be fine" she finished her confession.

She felt him squeeze her hand again affectionately and she closed her eyes smiling.

"What are you doing here?" she heard her mother's shrieking voice from across the door, shaking her from her reverie as she heard Tristan shuffling to get to his feet.

"Nothing" he mumbled from the other side and she chuckled, imagining her mother's scolding look.

"You are not supposed to see the bride before the ceremony! Geez, you two just can't be trusted. You get out there" she heard Lorelai start giving the orders as Rory got up from the floor, straightening out the layers of her huge white wedding gown.

"And you" her mother continued as she walked through the door, closing it firmly behind her "finish getting ready. Those socialites are gonna get trigger happy if they don't see a perfectly executed wedding in five minutes!"

She laughed, rolling her eyes at her mother who shook her head in disdain, and Rory couldn't help but smile. One of those brilliant smiles that lit up her face.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He chuckled as he left the small room behind, hearing Lorelai scolding Rory inside.

He felt lighter, almost weightless, having managed to just talk to her, sense her after the past two days of having to go without her nearness, those two hectic days of organizing, rehearsing and being separated 'for traditions sake'. Last night was the first for months that he had to spend alone in his bed, without her and he barely slept, his head and heart filled with anxiety.

But now, he felt reassured, relaxed, as if he weren't about to walk into a room full of about 400 guests.

It all suddenly felt like a last, measly obstacle before the finish line, before forever after, before her being his forever and always.

"Tristan."

He froze in his track, instantly recognizing the voice coming from behind him, from the adjoining hallway he just passed.

He turned slowly, the finish line in his mind suddenly obscured.

He narrowed his eyes, studying the form standing in the shaded hallway.

Even with the barest hint of light, he could see the weary lines on his face and it sparked a familiar feeling of hollowness inside his stomach.

"Jess, I thought you wouldn't make it" he said, pleased with the way his voice remained calm.

The man's mouth turned up in a crooked smirk before he turned around taking a couple of steps down the darkened corridor.

Tristan swallowed, taking a deep breath before he followed Jess.

He watched as he came to stand by the wall.

He studied his form, his shirt slightly battered under his suit jacket, his hair careless and longer than he'd last seen it, his face tired and thin.

He waited for him to speak, his whole body tensing slightly as he concentrated.

"I'm not staying" Jess said quietly and Tristan felt a sudden rush of relief, even as he willed his body to stay motionless.

"She would be happy to know you're here" he stated calmly, knowing it was the truth.

There was a glint of that smirk again before Jess took a deep breath.

"I wanted to..." he started, trailing off as if the words were futile.

There was a pause and Tristan's heartbeat seemed to slow, his every cell becoming still in order to listen, to understand.

"I don't know what the fuck I wanted" he heard him murmur.

There was silence again and Tristan felt the heat of the afternoon, streaming in through the walls despite the controlled atmosphere.

"You wanted to see her" he said, offering.

"I don't think I can" Jess said, his voice suddenly broken.

He nodded, patiently, his fingers flexing only slightly by his side.

"And I wanted to talk to you" Jess said and the words all but startled him.

He looked up, seeing the brown eyes transfixed on his, intense and restless.

"I want to be the bigger person here, Tristan" he went on "I want to see her get married to you and not be bitter. I want to remind myself that she is happy with you" Jess said, his eyes slowly finding his.

"And I want to not hate your guts, because you are good for her, and you... didn't screw up" he went on, the last part more quiet, like a broken confession.

There was a moment of silence and Tristan waited patiently, knowing there was more.

"But there is always ways to screw up" Jess spoke, his words barely audible.

The words spurred no surprise in Tristan, no fear or hate. He breathed calmly as he waited for Jess to finish his monologue.

"I don't know what I want to tell you..." he went on, his voice slightly whimsical.

"...that I hope to god you don't mess up, or that I will be here if you do" he said, the emotion breaking through.

"Jess" he called out his name, his voice soft, as if he were trying to give him a chance to control himself.

It made Jess tense, his eyes squeezing shut as he took a deep breath.

"Can you not tell her I was here?" he asked, swallowing.

"Yeah" Tristan murmured.

"Thanks" he replied, walking past him, his steps hurried.

"Jess" he called out as he turned after him, seeing him stop in his track.

There was a lot to say. But words were not his forte. And there really weren't right words to express what he felt about this man. About the eternal rival, about the conquered, about the unease that he could still spark inside him.

But sometimes silence was enough.

"Thank you."

The words were simple, void of emotion, void of purpose.

Jess waited a moment, then walked away without looking back.

Tristan stared after him.

He sighed, letting all tenseness leave his body with the expired breath. He closed his eyes, listening inward, trying to find the peace he knew he needed.

"Tristan?" he heard Lorelai's voice from behind him and he opened his eyes without turning.

"Yeah?" he replied still staring into the empty hallway.

"We are ready" came her voice.

"Okay" he said, turning around.

He felt his face calm, his body come alive with concentration.

"Hey" Lorelai said, catching his attention and he looked at her.

He watched as she hesitated, her blue eyes uncharacteristically uncertain. She approached him as he watched, slightly perplexed. There was a moment of silence between them and her arms suddenly jutted out as she hugged him impulsively, squeezing him close.

"You are frightening me" he murmured, but his hands moved to hug her back.

"Shut the hell up" she replied without missing a beat and he chuckled.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He stared down the aisle as he heard the march begin to play, his heart skipping a beat as he saw her turn the corner, her father walking her out into the sunlit garden. The sunlight sparkled on her hair flowing over her shoulders in loose curls, her eyes as brilliant as ever, and her simple yet beautiful wedding gown creating an heir of perfection. She looked simply breathtaking and he let out a quiet "wow" as his best man patted his back in appreciation.

Their eyes met and he saw her smile, the very same smile that seemed to have started all of this and suddenly all his nervousness, his worries and fears were gone, remembering her words from a couple of minutes ago.

He took a deep breath watching as she walked on, between the rows of murmuring guests, the bright flowers lining the isle. He held her gaze, the dozens of curious eyes around them becoming a blur as he focused on her beauty, her warm smile and shining eyes.

He watched as they reached the altar, her father kissing her on her forehead and leading her up to face him, before taking a seat in the first row next to Luke and Lorelai.

He took her hand and she smiled again as the music finished.

"Forget the black dress" he whispered "this one is much better at giving me a boner."

She choked and gave him a scolding look as the priest raised an eyebrow.

Tristan looked up at him, realizing he heard.

"Sorry father. I'll make sure to do three Hail Mary's tonight to make up for that" he said, his voice full of mischief and Rory gasped, turning a deep red as she caught the innuendo.

"We are gathered here today..." the priest started and she gave him a look.

"You are in trouble" she mouthed and he chuckled, not being able to hold back anymore. He took a step towards her, his hand circling her petite waist and his lips met her protesting ones in a bruising kiss.

He heard the crowd gasp in shock and the priest stop mid sentence as he kissed her thoroughly, feeling her protest slowly wavering.

He stopped and looked at Rory, who was trying to steady her breathing with eyes closed and he couldn't help but smile.

"Big trouble" she repeated as she opened her eyes, but she was already smiling.

"Sorry, couldn't resist" he said with a smirk as he took her hand into his and turned back to the priest.

"Five Hail Mary's" he said bargaining and the priest smiled at them continuing the ceremony.


End file.
